Love in the Modern World
by Blood Dark Sun
Summary: Established Engmano and DenPru, sequel to "Kissing Lessons." Part of the Skirmish Brothers universe.
1. The Date

_This first part is the direct sequel to "Kissing Lessons," but the rest of this story intertwines with "Skirmish Brothers" a lot. Originally published 8/10/2011. For a long time I was trying to keep the romance arcs in this story, and keep "Skirmish Brothers" as the story of Den, Romano and Prussia's antics as a group, but it got kind of tangled up, and now (although that's still _generally_ the gist of them) both stories have some romance and some antics. Sorry. If I'd considered it earlier, everything in this universe would be one big story, except "Estonia's Love Life."_

_..._

**The Date.**

They're supposed to go to dinner, and then an outdoor concert together; just a local thing in a park. England is moderately nervous – sure, he and Romano had a great kissing lesson last week (his lips curl up in memory, in desire) – but this is an actual date_._ He wants it to go well.

The bands playing at the concert are just local groups, nobody famous, so it will be low-key enough for them to spend a little relaxing time together before Romano has to get back home. England checks himself in the mirror one last time: jeans, boots…does he have too many chains on his belt? Union Jack muscle shirt, black leather jacket thrown over his shoulder. His typical punk gear. Yeah, it looks all right. He musses up his hair some more and goes downstairs to wait.

…

Romano was feeling a little nervous, too. Not sure he'd like the music (or the food). Not sure he and England could really have a relationship, other than their mutual desire for each other (_but that might just be enough_, he admitted, remembering the heated desire that had blossomed last week). But he was willing to give it a try. He rang England's doorbell and stood there worrying his lower lip in his teeth.

England answered the door. _Dear Lord,_ Romano thought immediately, gaze sweeping the Brit. Could those pants be any tighter? He tried not to stare, but England looked dangerous, rough, and extraordinarily hot. He felt his breath catch.

"Hi," England offered coolly, seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil. "Come in."

Romano pushed him backwards into the hallway, perhaps a little too roughly. "We – we need to talk, bastard," he stammered out. England's face froze. The half-nation realized immediately that he'd approached this wrong, and stepped forward to apologize. "No, I'm sorry, that was kind of abrupt. Didn't mean it to sound that way. How are you?" He put his arms around his friend's neck and they stood together, at first just holding each other.

England leaned shyly forward for a gentle kiss. "Missing you," he said quietly; Romano deepened the kiss.

He then drew back from the island nation and looked him in the eye. "Me too," he murmured. "More than I expected to. I'm glad to finally see you again." He kissed England again briefly. "But listen… there is something you need to know, before we go out."

The blond nodded slowly.

"I can't – I'm not a public kind of date." Romano scrubbed his cheeks with his palms and looked away. "I mean, I don't like all that hand-holding and snuggling and shit out in public. What we do behind closed doors" – he gave a mischievous grin – "that's different. But in public, I'd like us to just act like friends, okay?" He held his breath, hoping this not entirely unreasonable demand wouldn't offend England.

"Sure, I can live with that," the blond replied easily. "It would be nice to show off to everyone just how hot my new Italian boyfriend is" (cue Romano blush) "but… I don't have to. Er – we are behind closed doors at the moment, though," he pointed out archly, and Romano slid his hands into England's hair, pulling him close for a rough dominating kiss.

…

Dinner was interesting, to say the least. England had chosen an Indian restaurant. This really surprised Romano, who had no problem at all with Indian food; he simply assumed that his partner was too embarrassed to take him out for English food. Well, that came as a little relief; from everything he'd heard, English food was nothing to get excited about. He savored his chicken tikka masala, enjoying the creamy tomato flavor. Hey, if you could get good tomatoes in England, the food couldn't be all bad.

The conversation flowed easily. This was pretty reassuring to Romano. He'd spent all week wondering whether this was just a, a lustful attraction. Not that he'd break it off (yet) if it were, but…it was relaxing to see that the two of them were actually enjoying each other's company, and not having to talk about work, either.

"So this concert," he asked. "Rock and roll, I'm guessing, from your outfit?" Romano cursed inwardly as he felt the blush start up again. "Do you, uh, do you always dress like that, bastard?"

England tilted his head to the side. "I often do when I'm going out. Obviously not when I'm working." Dammit. Romano could just imagine the uproar if England came to a world meeting dressed like this. "Do you like it?" he continued, somewhat coyly.

Romano's only response to that was a strangled "Uh."

England chuckled. "Yes, it is rock and roll. There are three local bands; they're just using one of the city parks for the evening."

"Do they have to get permits and shit, before they do it?" Romano found this interesting; in Italy you'd never get rock bands playing in public parks.

"Yes, but it's fairly easy to get the permits. People in the area have plenty of time to make plans elsewhere, if they think the noise will bother them."

"Does that happen a lot? People leaving the area? Seems a shame that they'd have to go out of the house just to escape the noise pollution."

"Hey, it's not pollution!" England laughed. "British rock is the best rock and roll on the planet."

"Cheh, don't let America hear you say that."

"Actually, he's not too bad about it. It's bloody Australia who keeps trying to dominate."

"Huh." Romano thought for a moment. "I don't even know any Australian bands."

England smirked. "But I bet you don't really know any English ones, either, do you?"

"Of course I do! There – there's the Beatles, right, and…and the, the Rolling Stones?"

"Those are English, yes," he laughed at Romano's panicked face, "but they're like the granddaddies of rock, now. We have a _lot_ of rock bands."

"Whatever," Romano scoffed, embarrassed at his lack of knowledge. Well, at least he'd known someone_._

"Ah, I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

"Do we, are we supposed to dance?" Romano speared a piece of chicken.

"People do get up and dance quite often. We don't have to, if you don't want to."

"I'm not a dancer, bastard."

"I admit I can't quite envision you jumping around out there."

"Do you? Dance, I mean?" Huh, that could be…_interesting._ In those pants...

England fiddled with his fork, reddening. "Well. Not in the public parks, no. In bars, sometimes, depending whom I'm with…"

"You mean like Denmark? You said you drink with him a lot."

"If I'm just with Denmark, then yeah, sometimes we dance. But if Prussia's with us, I just end up drinking all night. That git just inspires overkill, I guess."

"Tell me about it," Romano snorted. There was a pause while the waiter refilled their water glasses. He was actually surprised that the Brit wasn't drinking tea. It was a product of India, after all – not that he'd spent any time researching the history of tea this past week. Romano had opted for water because he didn't want to get drunk and miss out on anything tonight. "How about other nations?" he went on. "Do you ever go out, you know, to bars or whatever, with them?"

England rolled his eyes. "With America sometimes, though he's so wrapped up in his own little bubble that it's not much fun for me anymore. And, and the frog, now and again, though these days he usually brings – er – Spain along." England looked down at the table, frowning. "Sorry."

Romano had wondered how long it would take for the specter of Spain to rear its head. "Don't worry about it, bastard. All that was a long time ago, and the man is, frankly, a fucking idiot." He smiled at England sweetly.

"Well, you're here with me, not him, so I wasn't really worried. Let's get going. The Tube might be crowded at this time of night; we might have to wait for a second train." He threw some bills on the table to pay for the meal and stood up, grabbing his jacket. Romano followed suit. As they walked out the door, smiling to the hostess, Romano felt England's hand brush against his, and had to fight not to grab his hand. Argh, how stupid would that be, right after he'd said _no lovey shit_?

…

The music was loud and fun, Romano had to admit. Some people were dancing in the park, others, like the two of them, simply sitting on blankets, enjoying the sights and sounds. England had picked up a flyer listing the three bands for the evening, and Romano idly turned it over, occasionally turning to glance at his friend. He kept catching himself licking his lips as he stared. Dammit, this was frustrating. They couldn't even have a conversation, because the music was too loud. Not without snuggling up close, which he didn't want to risk. He could just picture them snuggling together, murmuring to each other – and then jumping on each other...Blinking, he tried to clear his mind of these images.

England caught him staring and got a tiny frown between his eyes. He looked like wanted to talk, but the music was still intruding. Then he took the flyer from Romano's hands and turned to a couple near him, asking for something. The man handed him a pencil and the blond scribbled on the flyer before handing it over. "_Please_ stop licking your lips or I will have to attack you whether we're in public or not," Romano read.

He flushed, looked over to England with an almost hopeless look of desire, and then gestured weakly for the pencil.

"But you look so _delizioso,_" he wrote, handing the paper back, licking his lips again. England smiled brightly. _Really? _he mouthed. Romano nodded fervently, eyes wide. The blond moved subtly closer to him on the blanket, close enough that they could touch hands. He parted his lips and flicked the tip of his tongue between his teeth daringly, a very tiny teasing gesture. Romano closed his eyes and sighed, shivering.

When he opened his eyes again, England jerked his head towards the exit, and the Italian nodded. They gathered up the thin picnic blanket and the flyer, threw the pencil back to the couple, and hurriedly left the park.

"Do you want to go anywhere else, or just go back to my place?" England breathed, and Romano gave him a look which he hoped left no doubt at all. They hurried to the Tube station. Romano really, really wanted to hold England's hand, to touch his cool skin somewhere, but forced himself to behave.

The train platform was crowded. He grabbed England's jacket sleeve so they wouldn't be pushed apart. Finally the correct train came and the two of them managed to squeeze onto it, although there were no seats left. Pressure from the other travelers pushed them against each other, chest to chest, cheek to cheek. Romano could feel his heart beating strongly, slowly, and wondered whether the blond could feel it too. They were almost more intimately touching, here in the middle of this crowd, than they had been on Denmark's couch last week. He took a deep breath and pressed a little closer, savoring the secret feel of England's strong body warm against his own. From the rosy stain on his friend's cheeks, from the way the island nation wouldn't meet his gaze, Romano surmised that his host was feeling much the same way.

…

_I apologize if you really __would__ have rock bands playing in Italian parks. I haven't been to Italy yet, but hey, it seemed like a believable plot point._


	2. Panic Attack

**Panic Attack.**

As they walked from the station back to England's townhouse, he grabbed Romano by the wrist, dragging him along the street – but that was all right with Romano, since he wasn't doing it in a boyfriend kind of way. In fact, to an onlooker it would probably seem like England was angry. He smirked; the island nation was obviously eager to be alone with him. He really had to run to keep up. It wasn't yet dark out, but twilight had settled in, and street lamps were beginning to come on.

England dragged him right up the front steps and into the hallway, slamming the door behind them, flinging his leather jacket onto the floor. _Dammit,_ Romano thought, _he's even more on fire than I am!_ He reached out for England, whose reaction scared the hell out of him.

"What the bloody hell were you doing back there?" the blond yelled. "Pressing up against me like that – everybody on the blasted train was looking at us!"

Romano could only stand there with his mouth agape. "Huh?"

"Don't 'huh' me! All that bloody 'don't touch me' garbage before we left, and then you pull a cheap stunt like that?"

"Now wait a minute," Romano snapped, eyes narrowing. "There were hundreds of people on the fucking train! What did you expect me to do?" He took off his jacket and threw it over the sofa.

"Anything! Maintain a little personal space! Nobody does that kind of stuff on a train."

"Fine, bastard. Maybe you'd prefer it if I pressed myself up against that fat guy in the business suit? There wasn't any room_._ Next time that's what I'll do. Chigi!" He stood fuming, staring at England, who suddenly began to look a little worried.

"O-oh." He pushed his hands through his hair and looked at the floor. "I – bollocks, Romano, I'm sorry. I – those trains get so crowded –"

"_Sorry_ isn't going to cut it, dammit." Romano had worked himself into a snit over this and wasn't about to let it go.

"But it's just –" England covered his red face with his hands and drew a deep, shuddering breath.

"Bastard?" Romano asked hesitantly. Was he, was he crying?

"It's these blasted jeans!" England yelled. "They're too bloody tight, and when you push up against me—"

Romano actually snorted. "Cheh, if that's all you're worried about!" He reached out a hand towards England, and the blond grabbed it like a lifeline.

"I really am sorry I yelled at you," he muttered brokenly. "It felt so good – but, Romano, you –"

"Hey, Iggy!"

Romano and England both froze in panic, and then England dropped Romano's hand like a hot potato. "America?" he called out weakly, then swallowing, clearing his throat, louder, "America?"

"What the fuck is that idiot doing here, bastard?" Romano's voice was a stage whisper. He could feel the blood draining away from his face as he hid his hands guiltily behind his back.

"How the hell should I know? I don't even know how he got in here! He doesn't have a key!"

America strode into the front room waving a baseball hat. "Hey, Iggy. Oh, hi, Romano. You okay?" he asked the Italian. "You look a little pale."

Romano just gawked at him, but America seemed oblivious.

"What – you – what the – " England choked out.

"I just dropped by to pick up my baseball hat, okay? I broke in through the powder room window." He settled the hat onto his blond hair backwards, pointing towards the powder room. "How do I look?"

"You – you broke – the – the bloody window?" England's voice trailed off.

Romano was still frozen, mouth gaping. He shut it.

"Naw, I just picked the lock a little. My hat was still in the kitchen, so I just slipped in to get it. Thanks, Iggy! See you later, Romano!" America moved to the door.

"Wait – where – you –" England still couldn't speak in complete sentences. Romano might have found it funny, if he weren't still freaking out himself.

"Oh! Belgium and I have a date. I'm taking her to the Tokyo International Film Festival. She's so cute! I'll see you guys later, all right? Wish me luck!" America bounced out the front door, closing it behind him.

For about sixty seconds, neither England nor Romano was able to move.

"Uh – wha – " Romano finally managed to clear his throat. "What the fuck? Belgium, seriously? With _America?_"

England sank onto the couch, head in hands. "Bloody hell. What a wanker. What a turnip-headed wanker."

"Hey, it's all right now," Romano countered, going to lock the front door. "At least he's gone." He came back and sat next to England.

"But what if he comes back? Hell…if America is able to pick my lock, who else might start breaking in? Prussia? Bollocks." England tipped his head onto the back of the sofa. "I'll never feel safe in this house again," he whined melodramatically.

Romano agreed. "Do you, do you suppose he heard us?" he asked, warily.

England's eyes snapped open. "Oh, no…all that yelling about us pressing together…my stupid bloody trousers…"

Oh, yeah. Romano's attention was drawn back to England's tight outfit. "About that – I, uh, I might have an idea…"

…

_Please insert your own M-rated fantasy here. _

_And yeah. I have a thing for Iggy in tight pants._

_xXxSoulKeeperxXx helped me choose Belgium as America's date. Thanks._


	3. Land of Hope and Glory

**Land of Hope and Glory.**

"_Wider still and wider shall thy bounds be set; God, who made thee mighty, make thee mightier yet!"_

Romano awoke in a pool of bleak English sunlight to the sound of singing. Quite good singing, deep and nearly operatic. He stretched comfortably and rolled over, realizing when he saw the empty bed that it was England singing, his rich voice rolling the lyrics. Romano smiled lazily. He was going to have to do something really nice for Denmark.

And he smelled _coffee!_ But how could that be? Surely England would be drinking tea. What time was it, anyway? Romano looked at the clock and groaned, rolling over again. Nearly noon, dammit; well, at least he hadn't had any plans for the day.

"Hey, bastard!" he called out.

"I'll be right there," his friend called back. In another moment England came sailing happily through the bedroom door in jeans and a t-shirt, humming his song, bearing a tray with biscotti and a cup of coffee, with a copy of yesterday's Il Messaggero tucked under the saucer. "Your breakfast, sir," he said dramatically, rolling his r's, setting the tray on the nightstand and sweeping into a bow like a proper English butler.

Romano sat up. "What the hell's all this? Where'd you get the coffee?"

England slithered onto the bed, propping himself up on his elbows. "You weren't waking up, so I got bored and went out for everything. I wanted to do something nice for you."

"Believe me, bastard, you already did." He rolled onto his side and smirked when he saw his friend's blush. "Kiss me, dammit." As they kissed, Romano became very aware that he was still naked while England was fully dressed, and also, that he hadn't had a chance to shower yet this morning. "I'd like to take a shower, all right?"

England just nodded and pointed to the bathroom. "There are towels in there already. I'd join you, but I showered while you were asleep. Sorry."

"Don't worry, we'll get to it at some point," Romano said, and kissed England again. Dammit, he really needed to get out of this bed. He stood up, debated whether to cover himself, and decided just to walk to the bathroom naked. He could feel England's appraising eyes on him, and felt his face get hot as he walked away.

…

When he came back, towel around his waist, England was asleep again. He looked so relaxed, and just so fucking cute. Romano reached down and lightly ruffled his messy hair, and England opened his eyes and smiled. "Hi."

"Do you want to go back to sleep?"

"Nh, no, I'm all right. Just a little drowsy." He rolled over and stretched again. "Did you know you left bite marks all over my body?"

"Mm. You were delicious." Romano, feeling proud of himself, pulled on his Italian flag underwear with a brief snort of irritation. He'd been so stupidly conflicted about underwear yesterday; damn that albino potato! He then slid back onto the bed, picking up the coffee and the plate of biscotti. "So...uh…you – did you – enjoy it?" He was completely unconcerned about the answer, of course, but thought he might as well ask.

"Hmm," the island nation replied, mockingly analyzing, counting off on his fingers. "Well, dinner, fine; concert also; train ride actually very arousing, fighting about it ditto; interruption by America hideous; I'm not too happy about you ripping my favorite jeans, but what the hell, it was worth it; the kissing was great; the sex was phenomenal; and, oh, the actual sleeping part was nice too."

Romano had to put the coffee cup down, he was laughing so hard. "Seriously, bastard, you liked it or what?"

"Of course I did! I want to do it all over again. You're bloody awesome, and I don't just mean in bed. I want to have a lot of fun with you."

Romano reached out a hand to stroke the blond bangs off England's forehead, kissed him there, and then they simply held each other close for a while. This was really sweet, dammit. This was a – a great way to feel.

"Well," England murmured drowsily, "I don't want America interrupting us anymore. But other than that, I want to do it all over again."

"Mm. Yeah."

…

_This was the original end of the story called "First Date."_


	4. Winter Kills

**Winter Kills.**

"This damn tree is always so bleak in winter," Prussia grumbled. It was early in the afternoon and they had no plans at all. "And it's so cold today."

"Ah, you're always grumbling about something, just give it up." Romano was irritated; he'd hoped to do something with England today, forgetting that it was the day he was supposed to meet Denmark and Prussia. Well, he could always see England tomorrow, but he was still irritated. He sat on the hard ground, back against the oak's trunk, chin in hands, elbows on knees.

"So what are we going to do today?" Denmark stamped his feet, trying to warm up. "Coffee?"

"Coffee works for me, dammit. Come on." He hopped up and they walked off towards the coffee shop. "Just make sure you get decaf, albino potato."

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry about me," Prussia started. "Anyway, France and Spain are going to a new dance club tonight. I wondered whether we could all go too." He eyed Denmark, then Romano, who snorted.

"Why would I want to go where those bastards are?" But then Romano had a great idea. Uh, maybe a great idea. He could invite England. Nobody would suspect they were there together. If all the other nations were around, it would simply seem coincidental. The memory of England in his punk outfit didn't sway Romano at all. And then, maybe they could figure out what to do to show Denmark their appreciation…and he could get away from Spain more easily…"Uh…yeah."

"Yeah what?"

Denmark was looking at him a little funny, so Romano just shrugged. "Yeah, let's go to this dance club, I mean. I want to hang out with you guys. What's the club called?"

"Barracuda," Prussia laughed, making chomping motions with his teeth. "It's in downtown Paris."

"I've got to change, though." Romano looked distastefully at his nondescript clothes. "Are you going to go, Den? Come on, you should go."

Denmark looked over at Prussia and then laughed and agreed. "You know how I like to dance!"

"Well, actually I don't know. I've never been drinking with you guys before, remember? That's why we don't have 'boozers' in our awesome team name?"

Denmark just laughed. "You'll have fun. Huh, too bad England can't be there, he's so much fun at bars." Romano schooled his face in time, and he was certain he gave nothing away.

"Give him a call," said Prussia. "We haven't been together in a while. Tell him to wear those black jeans, kesesese."

The brunet fought to hide a smirk. Those black jeans that he'd ripped in half, in his frenzy, last month?

Denmark looked at Romano in concern. "Are you really sure you want to go? I somehow can't imagine you at a dance club."

"Cheh, don't worry about me. I'll be all right. It's just a bar, yeah? I don't have to dance. What could go wrong?"

"Okay!" Prussia started to lope off. "I'll see you guys there later? Right, see ya!"

"Hey, what about the coffee?" Denmark yelled. Prussia just waved and walked on. "Well, that was abrupt." Denmark sounded almost irritated. He and Romano continued into the coffee shop. "Hang on, let me call England."

Romano paced around the coffee shop while they waited for their drinks, so he wouldn't start blushing and look stupid while Denmark was on the phone.

"Hey England, it's me, Den. Yeah, we're going to a new club in Paris tonight, Barracuda, wanna come?...Well, it was Prussia's idea." A series of squawks erupted from the phone, and Denmark laughed. "No, come on, I'll be there…France and Spain, according to Prussia" – more squeaking – "Yeah, Romano's here, he said he'd go too."

Romano held his breath, still facing the other direction.

"Great! All right, you think you can find it yourself? Right, see you there…Right…Hang on, yeah." Denmark handed the phone to Romano. "He wants to ask you something."

"Yeah, it's me, bastard," he tried to say nonchalantly into the phone, keeping his back to Denmark, praying England wouldn't start the sweet talk and make him feel stupid. "You going?"

"Of course I'll go. I don't care if I have to put up with all those other gits, if you'll be there." England's voice was warm.

"Don't – just – don't, dammit. Okay, I – we'll see you there?"

"Yes…may I stay at your place tonight?"

"Chigi! Not now!" He scrubbed his free hand over his face. "But, yeah, all right, whatever."

"Thanks. Guess what, I got a pair of new trousers, just for you…wait until you see them!"

"Forget it! Shut up. Here, I'm giving the phone back to Denmark, idiot."

"Right, see you later."

"Everything okay, England? Yeah, sure…yeah, you know Romano, he'll get over it…See ya!"

Romano and Denmark drank their coffee and then split up to go home and get ready for a night on the town.

…

_This was originally the first chapter of the story called "Songs about Life." Part Skirmish Brothers, part England & Romano._


	5. Hit Me With Your Best Shot

**Hit Me With Your Best Shot.**

England entered the club almost swaggering. Tonight was going to be fantastic. He was going to a dance club with Romano! Er – well – he wasn't planning to do anything personal there, certainly nothing to embarrass either of them – but, ha. He suddenly had a great idea. He would sing to Romano all night, quietly, softly, so that no one else would know. Just the love songs, of course_._

He pushed through the dancing crowd, listening to the music, looking for Denmark's spiky hair. It would probably be easier to spot him in the crowd than Romano's shorter frame. Before he got very far he felt a hand on his arse, and he knew by the way it squeezed him that it was not Romano. "Get off, you bloody frog," he growled, without looking around.

"Ah, _mon cher_, I would love to get off, and you are wearing leather pants! _Merde_, that's awesome, as _cher_ Prussia would say."

England spun to face him. "Maybe I should have said 'beat it,'" and then his face flamed as France smirked. Before he could speak again, the island nation pushed him aside, saying, "Just – just don't. Just go find someone else to grope. Go find Spain. Keep him away from me tonight."

France shrugged. "If you say so, _mon cher_, but you know, if you are going home lonely tonight, I am more than happy to oblige!"

"That's not going to happen," England said, still scanning the crowd.

"If you are looking for _Danemark_, he's over at the bar with the others."

"Thanks," England said, walking off towards the bar. Romano must be a great calming influence on him, he reflected, if he could now have a conversation with Francy-pants – after the tosser had grabbed him in the arse! – and not blow up.

Yeah, there was Denmark, and Prussia, and Romano, who was all in black, trying desperately to avoid the attentions of Spain, who was pushing a drink at him. Romano kept pushing it away; kept scanning the crowd, and then his eyes lit on England and froze. England quirked a little smile at him, and Romano blushed. Nobody near him seemed to notice.

...

"Hey, gits," England said, coming into the group, sliding himself in next to Romano completely arbitrarily.

"Great, you made it!" Prussia high-fived him, but Denmark looked from him to Romano. It was a subtle look, which Prussia missed, but both Romano and England knew they were under scrutiny.

"Get me a drink," England said to Prussia. To Spain he turned and said, "Can't you go find the frog or something? You're crowding me."

To Romano, an experienced Spain-watcher, the tells were evident – a sudden twitch in the eye, lips pressed together – but Spain apparently wasn't drunk enough yet to take on his old enemy for no apparent reason, and he just cocked an eyebrow and started to move away, taking Romano by the arm as he left.

Romano jerked his arm out of Spain's grasp. "Go find France and do whatever it is the two of you do together." His voice was venomous, just as it always was when dealing with Spain. He stood fractionally closer to England, seeking protection.

England put his arm around Romano, who stiffened, but the Brit just used his arm to scoop him towards the bar, away from Spain. "Have a drink," he suggested. Romano raised his glass to show his Bloody-Mary-in-progress. Prussia finally returned with England's drink.

After turning to scan the room for the threat of Spain – who had silently melted into the crowd – England turned back. Both Prussia and Denmark were looking at him with wide-eyed disbelief. Romano was still trying to act nonchalant, and was looking past the bartender to watch his friend in the big bar mirror, but he couldn't tell what was making the other bastards freak out.

"What?" the island nation asked.

"You're wearing fucking leather pants!" Prussia yelled. "Kesesese! That is so damn hot. Turn around; let me look again!" Even Denmark looked intrigued, and England smirked, pushing his hand through his hair as he turned like a model on the catwalk.

Dammit_._ Romano couldn't even make himself turn around. He knew his face was tomato-red. He could feel England laughing behind him, spinning around to show off to the others.

Denmark grinned. "You in the market for a lover?"

Romano couldn't look away from his drink, couldn't look at England or anyone else right now. He buried his nose in the glass and drank deeply. Ah, that was good; the ice would cool him off a little.

"I'll be your lover," Prussia chortled, "damn, you are looking sweet_, _Iggy."

"Ah, shut up, Prussia. Let's just go dance. Come on, England! And Romano!"

"I'll be over in a bit," England laughed. "Give me a break, I just got here." When the other two had moved off, he turned towards Romano and murmured, "Now you see why I don't like going anywhere with him?"

"Chigi! If you hadn't worn fucking – fucking leather pants, he wouldn't be doing this, bastard," Romano choked out, his throat tight.

"But I wore them for you, Romano," England whispered in mock injury. "Did you even look?" Well, Romano had to look, after a challenge like that, and when he did, he let a little smirk curl the corner of his mouth before turning away.

"They're going to be a lot harder to rip off than jeans," England pointed out.

"Heh, I'll get them off you somehow." Romano tried to be offhand with this comment, but had to bury his face in his glass again to conceal his mad blush.

England just laughed. "Bloody hell, I'm glad you're here. Tonight's going to be so much fun." He grabbed Romano's hand surreptitiously and gave it a quick squeeze before downing the rest of his drink. "Will you dance with me?"

"Cheh, maybe, not yet, though. I don't know."

"Well, 'maybe' is better than nothing, I guess."

Denmark and Prussia were jumping around the dance floor like madmen. Romano and England watched them from the sidelines for a while, leaning against each other, drinking, talking. Romano knew Spain would be back at some point, but he hoped England would assist him in giving the idiot the brush-off. He sat on a barstool and leaned back against the bar.

"Here's a nice slow song by our American friends," the band's singer said. England waited to hear what the song was, and then leaned over to sing along, right into Romano's ear, deeply, softly.

_Before you slip into unconsciousness  
><em>_I'd like to have another kiss  
><em>_Another flashing chance at bliss, another kiss…_

Even in the flashing dance lights, Romano's blush was visible. He saw the people on the dance floor swaying hypnotically to the slow heavy beat; people working at the bar, stopping work to listen. Conversations died down temporarily. England's deep singing voice poured secretly into Romano's ear like warm honey, spreading through his whole body. He didn't know this song, but the way his friend sang it was haunting. He felt a rush of pride and affection (and yes, arousal) as he listened, not moving.

When the song ended, the entire crowd erupted in applause. The singer stood forward and thanked the crowd. "Hell, yeah! Tonight is gonna be awesome!" Screams, people jumping and waving their arms for more. Romano's grin grew and he leaned back against the bar to enjoy the show. Apparently this Barracuda was going to be a very popular place.

"Hey, git, I'm going to ask them to play something special for me to sing to you. Will you be all right? I'll be right back."

"Not – not singing on the stage?" Romano got a bit nervous at the idea of England publicly acknowledging their relationship.

"No, I just meant for me to sing into your ear again."

He nodded with a subtle smile and England slipped off to the stage. Just then, someone approached Romano from the side, almost as though he'd been waiting for the blond to leave; it had to be Spain, didn't it? Or France, or both.

"Ah, _cher_ Romano, you are all alone! Your heartless friends have left you here?" France slipped an arm around Romano's waist and snuggled in close on the left. The brunet stiffened as he felt Spain move in on the other side.

Spain put his chin on Romano's shoulder. "_Hola, mi tomatito_, why are you so alone?" His breath was really alcoholic, and he caressed Romano's cheek with one hand, the other holding a drink.

"Get off me, bastard," he snarled, pushing his hand into Spain's face, trying to shove him away and get away from France's groping hand at the same time.

But France and Spain were old experts at double-teaming, and soon they had Romano boxed in and angry as hell. England was sauntering back towards them, singing along with the band, but when he caught sight of Spain molesting Romano, he stormed towards them in incandescent rage. He was staring at Spain with fire in his eyes and growling something that was drowned out by the music.

Prussia and Denmark were still dancing. "Pirate fight! Kesesese!" Prussia yelled excitedly to Denmark.

Romano shook in fear, a little, as a circle of people widened around him, France, Spain and England.

"Get the hell off Romano, you – you –" He grabbed Spain by the collar and flung him aside; Spain fell into a heap on the floor.

"_Angleterre!_ What's the matter with you? _Espagne_ was simply spending some time with his _cher_ Romano, whom I might add had been abandoned by you and your crazy friends."

England ignored him and stood over Spain, making a growling noise in his throat.

"_Angleterre!_" France grabbed England's arm. England shook him off easily, without looking around.

"Get off him, France," Romano said, setting his drink down, trying to make his voice menacing. He reached for the Frenchman's arm, trying to grab it, but France slipped out of his grip.

"What the hell are you doing, _Inglaterra_? I just want to talk to Romano!" Spain whimpered a little, getting off the floor, but not coming any closer to the irate Englishman.

"Romano doesn't want to talk to you."

Spain jumped on England with a murderous yell. The two of them immediately went at it far beyond any of their previous fights, screaming, snarling, fists pounding, kicking. Romano and France both stood back, at this point just trying to stay out of the way. Patrons were standing in a circle, cheering them on drunkenly.

It looked like it would be an almost even match. Spain was drunker, but those pants were harder for England to move in. Then somehow Spain managed to sit on his opponent and punch him in the nose repeatedly; blood began flowing onto England's shirt. The blond struggled, but Spain kept him pinned down, punching and punching.

Romano's heart was pounding. "Get up!" he yelled. England struggled a bit and managed to shove Spain off, but he jumped back on England, hitting him, before the island nation could get up.

"What the hell has gotten into the _rosbif_?" France breathed. "And can't you stop them, Romano?"

"Why should I?" Romano tried to smirk with confidence, though his heart was sinking. "England's kicked Spain's ass before, he'll do it again, right?"

France was taken aback by this. Spain heard it too, and stopped punching to cry out, "No, Romano!"

But England had heard it too, and it gave him the energy to tap into his deliriously happy fighting zone. He flung Spain off him, jumped on top of him, and pounded him into the floor. Then England grabbed Spain's bangs and began whacking his head on the floor…up, down, up, down...

"Stay – away – from – Romano!" With each whack of Spain's head on the floor, England's laugh grew stronger and crazier; Spain just moaned in pain. Romano, relieved, started to breathe again.

Up on stage, the band had finished singing, and they were staring at the fight, just like everyone else in the place. "What the hell's going on?" the singer asked into the microphone.

This seemed to snap Denmark out of his daze. "Come on, we gotta stop this," he said, grabbing Prussia's hand.

When they reached the melee, Denmark easily stopped the fight by putting his arms around England's waist and pulling him off Spain. "Bollocks! Let go! Who the - " He turned to see Denmark. "Oh, Den, let me kill this wanker, finally, please_._" He struggled a little, but not very effectively; Denmark's grip was like iron.

France and Prussia were trying to restrain Spain from leaping on England again, and the manager of the club was pushing through the crowd towards them. England had a nosebleed and was favoring his right leg. Spain's clothes were torn, and he'd be sporting a magnificent shiner in the morning if he didn't get ice on it right away. He was also cradling his right hand. There was blood on Spain's clothing, but Romano couldn't tell whose it was. He didn't see any visible cuts on Spain, so he suspected it was from England's nose.

"Please, _messieurs_," the manager said, "it is unseemly to brawl like this."

"_D'accord_," France put in acidly, and took Spain's arm. "I'll see to this one." He threw a very dirty look at the remaining group and walked off supporting a limping Spain, who threw one last pleading look at Romano. Romano, heart still pounding, stared back at him, disgusted, before turning back to England in concern.

Denmark squeezed England around the waist. "Can I set you down now?"

"Yes, all right. That bloody wanker. Could you please get me a damp cloth to clean up with?" England asked the manager. He turned to Romano. "Are you all right? Bloody hell, I could kill that bastard." He even snarled a little bit, looking in the direction France had taken Spain.

No one had ever fought for Romano that way. His adrenaline was still pumping, and he now understood how England could get so aroused by fighting, as he had in Denmark's kitchen. Heedless of the watching crowds, of the blood, he grabbed England by the shoulders and planted a hard, fierce kiss on his lips. England's eyes widened, but he returned the kiss.

"Yes! You owe me a hundred Euros, Prussia!"

The island nation drew back. "You what?"

"You bastards! What are you betting on? _Chigi!_" Romano suddenly realized what he'd done and turned red, covering his face with his hand.

Prussia simply stood there with his mouth open in shock.

"Don't give him any money, Prussia. He had inside information." England was still breathing heavily, a little, but Romano just sighed and looked off into the distance, feeling like an idiot.

The manager returned with a cloth, which he handed to England wordlessly, and then he returned to the bar. The blond smiled bravely at Romano, first cleaning the Italian's face, then mopping up his own. "I hope I didn't embarrass you," he said quietly.

Romano's eyes widened. "You kicked his ass_, _bastard! It was, well, it was awesome." He blew out a sigh. "Will you sing to me some more?" He stroked England's cheek tenderly. "Or do you want to go home?"

"Of course I'll sing to you," England said sweetly. "If you like."

"Yes, please." Romano kissed him again, subtly, under the ear, not even caring if the albino potato was watching.

The club had settled down; people were dancing again. Romano sat on a barstool, listening to his battered friend singing to him, drinking a glass of club soda and letting the music wash over him like a web of safety.

"Let's go home now," he suggested when the song ended. "You fought so bravely for me, and you sang so beautifully. Let's go clean you up and get some rest."

England nodded. "Are you all right? Anything else bothering you?"

"Just you," Romano grinned. "I want to get a better look at you in those pants."

England threw back his head and laughed, throwing his arm around Romano's shoulders, and they left the nightclub together.

…

"I'm serious, Prussia, I want my hundred Euros."

"You'll get it. I'll borrow it from West and come over tomorrow."


	6. Splish Splash

**Splish Splash.**

By the time they reached Romano's house, their adrenaline had begun to abate. England felt tired, and his nose, arms and chest, where Spain had landed a few punches, were beginning to hurt. He hoped Romano wasn't in too lively of a mood.

The house was beautiful. England had always been a fan of Italian architecture, and this house was no exception. Romano led him silently by the hand through elegant darkened rooms until they reached a great big bathroom. "I – I thought maybe you might want to relax in the bathtub," he stammered, still holding England's hand. "It might help with any pain you still have?"

The blond looked at the surprisingly large, old-fashioned bathtub. "That thing's enormous. Er – will – will you – will you take a bath with me?" He felt a blush rising.

"Sure, I'd…like that a lot." Romano turned to the closet and pulled out a big stack of towels and a bottle of bath gel before beginning to run the water.

The big mirror over the sink showed England just how bad he looked, with dried blood caked down the side of his face. He decided to wash that off before getting in the tub; it would ruin the tub water. Plus it didn't look too attractive. He stripped off his blood-spattered shirt and washed his face in the sink, making sure to get it entirely clean.

By the time he was done and had toweled his face off, Romano was already in the bubble-filled tub with a glass of champagne in his hand. There was another one on a small tubside table waiting for England, and the bottle in a silver ice bucket. Romano smirked at the astonished blond, who now had to wriggle out of his trousers without assistance.

"This is not fair," he laughed, and went out into the bedroom to strip. He came back in blushing; examining the bruises forming on his breastbone rather than meeting Romano's eyes, and then slipped into the tub, facing his friend.

"Have a drink, _mi crociato,_" the Italian purred, handing him the glass.

England took a little sip, stretching his legs out, enjoying the way bubbles tickled his tongue. "What does that mean? 'My crocus'?"

Romano snorted a little. "My 'crusader.' My brave defender." His gaze softened again, watching England drink. "How does the warm water feel? Are you relaxing?"

"Sort of," admitted England, reaching down to stroke Romano's leg under the water. "I wouldn't have guessed you to be a bubble bath kind of guy, though." The bubble bath smelled like peppermint and lavender, very nice, almost medicinal.

"Cheh. It's for when Veneziano comes over," Romano blushed. "I don't use this bathroom much, the tub's too big."

"The tub's just right, git," England said, wriggling his toes on Romano's hipbones.

Romano raised his glass to hide another blush.

After a few minutes of relaxing silence, he refilled their glasses and said, "I've been thinking…we should do something nice for Denmark."

England got a faraway look in his eye. "He likes Prussia, you know."

"What? No way! That bas–" But then Romano thought back to all the anxious little looks he'd seen on Denmark's face when they were with Prussia, or talking about Prussia, all those times Denmark talked about how sexy they all were – and he realized England might be right. He got a big wicked grin on his face. "So what are we going to do about it?"

…

By the time they'd hatched the beginnings of their plan, the champagne was gone, the bath water cooling. "Do you want to get out? Or I can top up with more hot water."

"Let's stay in the tub for a little while," England answered drowsily. "This is really so nice, relaxing in the tub with you. I've never done this sort of thing before."

"Fine." Romano turned on the hot water tap. "But then you should come and sit over here with me instead of so far away."

The blond's eyes lit up and he scrambled, somewhat awkwardly, to sit with his back to Romano. The Italian put his arm around his friend's waist and used his free hand to clasp England's fingers, leaning forward to kiss the messy hair.

The island nation tilted his head back wearily to look at Romano. "You are so – well, I don't even know."

"I know, bastard," Romano murmured, kissing his soapy fingers. "You, too."


	7. He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother

**He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother**

England awoke alone in Romano's massive, ornate Renaissance bed. Eh, silk sheets; he'd never actually slept on them before, and last night they'd both been too tired for him to explore his surroundings. He bent his knees and ran his feet up and down the sheet, and it felt really nice. Where was Romano, though?

Oh, he could hear voices downstairs. Guests? Bollocks, then he couldn't dress in his own clothes. He rummaged around in a dresser until he found a pair of sweatpants and pulled them on, leaving the bloodied shirt on the floor with his leather trousers. After a quick wash-up, he padded downstairs to see what was going on. Something smelled really good. He followed his nose to the kitchen.

"England! Ve~!" Veneziano stood up in delight. "What are you doing here so early? Why aren't you wearing a shirt?" His voice quickly changed to concern. "You're covered in bruises! Are you all right?"

Romano, who was cooking, kept his back to the room, but England could see him blushing as he focused on breakfast. "Er – hello, Veneziano, Germany," the blond said to the third occupant of the room, stalling for time.

"England," Germany said, surprised.

"Ve, Romano, you didn't tell me you had a house guest! Since when are you and England friends?"

"Do I have to tell you everything, idiot? Are you saying I can't have friends without telling you?" Romano slid some ramekins out of the oven and the wonderful scent of herbed cheese soufflé filled the room. "We, ah, were at a bar last night, and it was closer for him to stay here than go back to London, that's all." He shot England a warning look, which was completely unnecessary – never mind that Romano's geography was complete rubbish – and gave him a cup of coffee. "Sorry I don't have any tea," he whispered. England just nodded and took the coffee.

"But that's so nice, ve! It's good for you to make new friends, right, Germany?"

"Indeed," Germany said, pulling out a chair for England, who sank into it and put his head in his hands. "I've often thought that your brother has remained too isolated."

"Shut up, potato bastard."

"But, but England, you look terrible. Did you get in a fight? Did you get in a fight with _fratello_?"

"Don't be stupid, Veneziano," Romano barked. "If we'd been in a fight with each other, why would I let him stay here? He got in a fight with Spain…and kicked the crap out of him, too," he continued with pride. He put an individual soufflé in front of each of them and then sat down himself.

"Spain?" Germany asked, confused. "Why were you fighting with Spain?"

"Cheh, he deserved it, the bastard wouldn't leave me – ah – well, he was being a nuisance at the club." He poured himself some coffee.

Finishing his coffee, England finally decided to join the conversation and drew a deep breath. "I was a little distracted last night, and Spain pushed me over the edge. That's all. I got carried away. It won't happen again."

"Damn right it won't," Romano answered, smug, "he won't come near m– you anymore after that, I bet."

Both Germany and Veneziano looked from one to the other, as if they were watching a tennis match.

"This still doesn't explain why you don't have a shirt on," Germany commented.

"Chigi! His shirt is covered in blood! That's all!"

"Blood? Just how bad was this fight, ve?"

"Bad," England admitted. "I hate that wanker." The island nation, head in hands, missed the deep flush and sentimental look that Romano directed at him.

Veneziano shrugged. "Ve, Germany, let's eat! _Fratello_ almost never cooks breakfast. We were really lucky today!"

The four sat to eat. England found himself ravenous, and dug into the heavenly soufflé eagerly. He didn't want to antagonize Romano with too much affection, so he simply smiled at him and kept eating. Veneziano kept up a constant stream of chatter with Germany. Romano wasn't saying much, but that was probably for the same reasons England was keeping quiet.

"So we're going to see Japan today!" Veneziano told them. "It's been such a long time since the three of us went out together; we're leaving early so we have the whole day together."

"That's nice," England offered. "It's nice that you three have stayed friends all this time. I can't stand hanging out with the Allies any more, except America, and only in small doses."

"Hey, that reminds me," Romano said, anxious to contribute something to the conversation, "did you hear that America was dating Belgium?"

"Where did you hear that?" Germany asked, astonished.

"America himself! When I was –" England and Romano realized at the same time that there was no easy way to explain that one. The blond almost laughed, but he didn't want to make his friend angry, so he covered his mouth with his hand.

"Maybe I was mistaken," Romano muttered, and then England did laugh. "What the hell are you laughing at, bastard?" England just kept laughing, and Veneziano joined in even though he had no idea what was so funny. "Dammit! Just shut up, both of you!" He threw a napkin at England, who laid his head on the table, still laughing. Romano stood up and came over to him, furious, but settled for nudging him with his knee.

England made an effort and managed to stop. Well, at least it had gotten everyone's mind off America and Belgium. He winked weakly up at Romano, who frowned, blushed, and stomped back to take empty plates into the kitchen.

"Sorry," England offered to his retreating back. "Just a little release of tension, I guess."

"Ve, we need to get going, Germany. Thank you so much for breakfast, _fratello_," he said, kissing Romano's cheek. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Cheh, whatever. Get going, potato bastard, I've got a kitchen to clean up."

"I'll help, git," said England winningly, rising. "I'm really good at cleaning kitchens. Just ask Denmark." Romano wadded up a hand towel and threw it in the sink, snarling.

"Bye England, bye _fratello_!"

"Breakfast was delicious, Romano, thank you," Germany added.

"See you later," England called out as they left the kitchen.

Once they were out of the house, Romano turned to his friend and snapped, "Dammit!"

"What? What'd I do?"

The frown on Romano's face smoothed away. "Ah, nothing, what the hell." He stepped closer to slide a hand over the bruises, placing the other hand in the small of England's back. "Does – does it hurt much?"

"I've had worse. But you owe me, now." He smirked.

Romano stepped closer. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

"What have you got?"

The Italian slid his arms around England's neck, pressing up against him. "I've got a lot, bastard…think you can handle it?"

"Mm…show me..."

They began kissing deeply, in a strong embrace, with the result that neither of them saw Germany walk back into the kitchen to grab his cap. He froze, watching, and then slipped silently out of the room again before they could spot him.

…

"Veneziano! Veneziano!"

"Ve, were they kissing, Germany?"

"How on earth did you know that?"


	8. Hello, Goodbye

**Hello, Goodbye.**

"Right, so we need to do some prep work before we launch our plan," England said later, when he was back at home and on the phone with Romano. "I know where to get all the things_,_ but you'll have to suggest the party to them. Prussia, at least, won't listen to me."

"Argh, what makes you think I can get that oblivious idiot to do anything, bastard?"

"Are you kidding? It's easy. Just pay him a couple compliments about his bloody former military power and he'll be all over you."

"Oh, yeah."

"Well…not all over you, please. That's my job."

"Cheh. How long will you need to get all the stuff?"

"At least two weeks, maybe longer, because it's the Christmas season. I'll have to mail-order some of it. I'll let you know when it's all here."

"This is going to be fun. I hope it works."

"Me too," England muttered. "Sometimes I think it's a stupid idea, and sometimes I think it's a great one. But Den at least deserves the chance to try, right? And Prussia doesn't have a clue. I mean, he thought Hungary was a boy even after she started wearing dresses and living with Austria!"

"Well, be fair, he spent a lot of time dealing with Poland, too…"

A moment while they considered Poland's cross-dressing tendencies.

"That part of Europe is really screwed up," England admitted. "Well, I have a lot of meetings coming up, so I'll see you next weekend? Maybe you can come up here?"

"Sure, I don't see why not. Just don't plan to cook for me, all right?"

"Oh, sod off," England grumbled.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you next Saturday."

…

Some time passed, as it tends to do, and Saturday rolled around. Romano wasn't due to arrive until six, so England spent the day loafing around, pleasurably indulging his tea-drinking, newspaper-reading side, making mental notes about world economics and the current trade issues plaguing the EU while he ate fresh-baked scones. Yum.

About 5:00 the doorbell rang. Ha, Romano was early! England hurried to open the door, a beaming smile on his face, only to find Switzerland fiddling with a pistol. "Er – what?" he said ungraciously, startled.

Switzerland was equally curt. "So, yeah. May I come in? I want to ask a favor."

England considered this in a panic. If Switzerland was still here when Romano arrived, Romano might turn right around and leave. He was terrified of the gun-crazy nation. Might as well let him in and get this over with.

"Of course." He stepped back to allow Switzerland entrance and led him to the living room. "Would you like some tea? I just made a fresh pot." _Say no, say no, say you don't have time for it…_

"Yes, thank you, with milk, please."

Bollocks.

England poured the tea and brought two mugs and milk on a platter. "How can I help you, Switzerland?" he asked. His thin veneer of 'gentleman' was dangerously close to peeling away to reveal the delinquent beneath, though, because he was getting anxious about Romano. Still, he managed to maintain the semi-formal demeanor that he used with nations he was not close to.

"You may not be aware," Switzerland began, taking his mug and sitting back into the seat cushions, "that my sister Liechtenstein is celebrating a birthday next month." He cleared his throat.

"I was not aware. Please, go on." What the bloody hell did this have to do with him?

"I will be frank with you. I give Liechtenstein everything she wants. She is the most pampered nation in Europe…but there is something she wants that she thinks only you can give her. For the last ten years I have dissuaded her from this notion, but it seems she is no longer going to accept no for an answer."

England held back his expression of shock, but – surely Switzerland, violent, trigger-happy, overprotective Switzerland – was not suggesting what England thought he was suggesting? He felt a sinking in his stomach…how could he turn Switzerland down without endangering his life? _Liechtenstein?_ Bollocks, he'd have to say no and then Switzerland would shoot him and then Romano would be sad and that wouldn't be any good and Spain would get Romano back and –

Oblivious to his frenetic thoughts, Switzerland was still speaking calmly. "Liechtenstein believes in the existence of your, your magical friends, and she wants to meet them."

England almost didn't process this, because he was still riding the panic train about Romano and Liechtenstein. He picked up his tea to cover his confusion. After a moment, what Switzerland had said percolated through to his consciousness. "She – she wants to meet Uni? And Flying Mint Bunny?"

"Ach, I don't know their names," Switzerland said irritably. "If they actually exist – and Liechtenstein believes that they do – I humbly request that she be permitted to meet them, preferably on her birthday. Naturally, appropriate recompense will be made."

As England drew breath to respond, the doorbell rang. Blast, six o'clock, Romano was right on time. "Excuse me a moment, Switzerland; I'll rejoin you momentarily."

His guest nodded and England flew to the door.

"Hi," Romano said softly as he stepped into the hallway.

"Er – no – wait –" England held off his embrace.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Just – blast it, just come in, sit down, and don't say anything and don't be scared_._"

"Russia?" he whispered.

"Switzerland," England hissed back, and grabbed Romano's sleeve to keep him from fleeing. "Please…we're almost done, just come and sit, try to smile – er, just come and sit and be still; you don't have to say a word, just – please?"

Romano looked off to the side and sighed. "Cheh, if you could take on Spain for me, I can sit around with Switzerland for a few minutes."

England led the way back into the room.

"H-hi, Switzerland," Romano stammered, and sat on a club chair.

"Romano," Switzerland acknowledged.

"Would you like some tea?" England asked Romano, but received a dismissive wave in return. "Very well, then, Switzerland; please continue."

Switzerland fingered the safety catch on the gun at his waist. "I do need assurances that this matter will be kept confidential," he stated.

"There will be no breach of confidentiality, either from myself or Romano," England replied. "If it is possible – and I must strongly stress that the requested parties may not wish to comply – then I am happy to facilitate a mutually-beneficial exchange."

Romano started fiddling with the seams on the arm of his chair, jiggling his foot, tapping his fingers like a hyper child. England frowned at him, but Romano wasn't looking; England returned his focus to Switzerland.

The Alpine nation seemed satisfied with England's formal legal-speak. "The date is January 23rd. I trust this will allow you ample time to make preparations?"

"Today is the fifteenth of December; yes, that should suffice. I will contact you approximately a week prior to the scheduled date to confirm or deny the availability of the requested parties. We can discuss remuneration after a successful closure to the matter?"

"Agreed." Switzerland set down his tea mug and extended a hand to England, who shook it. "I am pleased that you have been amenable to this important request. Goodbye, Romano," he added. Romano merely waved at him without speaking.

England escorted Switzerland to the door and locked it behind him, then hurried back to the living room.

"What the hell! Is he gone?"

England nodded and collapsed on the sofa. "You couldn't sit still for five minutes? You were as bad as America! Switzerland is a very dangerous git to antagonize!"

"Look, I came here to have fun with you, not get lectured about my behavior in front of a guy I barely know and don't even like_._ Don't lecture me, dammit."

England just crossed his arms and sat in a huff.

"What the hell was all that about, anyway?"

"Confidentiality agreement, remember? Couldn't tell you if I wanted to."

"What? This is me, bastard, remember me? Just because you have to get all uptight about some stupid hit man contract with Switzerland is no reason to take it out on me."

"Hit man contract? What are _you_ talking about?"

"Isn't that what all that fucking legal bullshit talk was all about?" Romano sat next to him and put his feet on the coffee table.

"That's the way I have to talk to Switzerland. It's the only kind of language he respects. Take your feet off the table."

"So what was it all about? Are you saying you can't trust me enough to tell me?" He took his feet off the table.

"You saw the gun! I don't want to court Switzerland's anger – against me or against you. So no, I'm not going to tell you." He unfolded his arms and rested them on the couch, closing his eyes. "I don't want any possible chance of him coming after you."

Romano's gaze softened, though England didn't see. "You are just so damn considerate."

England snorted. "Yeah, that, and you know how long it would take me to find another bloody boyfriend?"

Romano kicked him. "Shut up, bastard."

"Anything you say, git."

…

_Yes, a little weird, but I was working on contracts today, and my brain slid into this kind of language. Swissy seemed like a good guy to use for this type of discussion._


	9. Christmas All Over Again

**Christmas All Over Again.**

"You sure you won't change your mind about holding hands in public, git?"

"Cheh, I'm sure, I just can't get comfortable with it, all right?"

"Yes, all right. I just like holding your hand, that's all. Your hands are always so warm."

Romano had been seriously considering grabbing England's hand as they walked through downtown London at night, but couldn't reconcile this with his earlier prohibition. And he did not want to be seen as backing down, even over something so relatively trivial. He sighed and shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets. "Yeah, I know, but still." Plus it was freezing! His hands were better off in his pockets.

As they approached the shops that were open late to make Christmas sales, Romano started thinking about recent Christmases, spent as the third wheel with Veneziano and Germany. He really wanted to spend Christmas with England this year – but a _special_ Christmas, not just hanging out at one of their homes. _Without_ the potato bastard! Half his brain was thinking about this, and the other half was worrying about the weather.

Families and couples poured out of shops, laden with bags; the scent of roast chestnuts from street vendors filled the air. "Want to warm up?" England asked. "We could get some chestnuts, or some coffee?"

"Ah, I'm all right." The truth was that Romano didn't want to take his hands out of his pockets. England (the country, not his friend) was fucking _cold._ He looked at the blond, who was striding along in a medium-weight green coat, seemingly not affected by the cold at all. Dammit, it just wasn't fair.

"Hey, bastard, could we – could we go into the shops?"

"Sure, I don't see why not. Which ones would you like to go to?" They stopped and looked at the signs. "Is there anything special you want to buy?"

He just wanted to get warm, but wasn't about to admit that. "No, nothing special, I just want to look in the shops, see what kind of things you've got, and shit."

England snorted. "Fine. Let's start here." They went into a store selling Christmas ornaments and decorations. He dragged Romano straight to a display in the back of the store.

"What are you looking for?" Romano turned his attention to the display.

"These are the ornaments with this year's date on them. I – I thought maybe we could choose one for each other, you know, to, er, to show our first Christmas together?" England tilted his head and gave him his best sweet and appealing glance.

"Dammit, you're just too fucking adorable," Romano muttered. "Sure, let's pick out matching ornaments." He started looking through the available ornaments. After about two minutes he noticed his friend hadn't moved. "Hey, idiot, what's the matter?"

"Shh – I'm having a brilliant idea…yes…this is the best idea I've ever had. Ever. Romano, your boyfriend is positively _brilliant_!"

"Chigi! Stop all that 'boyfriend' shit!" he hissed. "What are you talking about?"

"I know what remuneration I'm going to get from Switzerland, yes indeed!" He grabbed Romano's hands and spun around the tiny shop, laughing and happy. People in the store made way for them, smiling, and after a few twirls, during which Romano's face got redder and angrier, England finally stopped and let go. "_We_ are going to _Switzerland_ for Christmas! And maybe New Year's, too."

"Huh?"

"Oh! Don't you – er – want to spend Christmas with me?" England looked a little scared all of a sudden.

Hadn't he considered Romano might already have something to do? It was kind of late in the season already. "Maybe I have plans!"

Whoa. Romano had never seen anyone's face fall so far, so fast.

"But I – er – " England bit his lip and looked down at the floor. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking." He turned away.

"Dammit, bastard, stop, I'm sorry too; I was just trying to make a point. I reacted badly. Come on, don't look like that. I – uh – I don't actually have plans." Romano's voice dropped. "I was actually trying to work up my nerve to ask you if you wanted to spend Christmas with me," he confessed.

"Let's go outside," England said abruptly. Romano followed, really confused now. When they reached the street, England grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him around a corner into a deserted alley.

Romano was baffled and a little bit worried, until he felt England's cool hands on his cheeks and a kiss pressed to his mouth. He was going to protest, but he could see that nobody was watching. And he kind of owed it to England after that stupid outburst. So they stood in the alley and kissed each other.

"What the fuck is going on, please?" he asked calmly, when England had finally drawn back.

"You're not mad?" the island nation asked.

"Yeah, bastard, I'm so fucking mad at you that I've been making out with you in a dark alley for the last ten minutes!" he snorted. He was relieved to see England smiling too. "Come on; let's go back out in the light." He grabbed his friend's wrist and tugged him back to the high street.

They stood near a street lamp, where he let go. "Now, can we please rewind to this brilliant idea about Switzerland and go from there?"

"Right." Deep breath. "You heard that Switzerland wants a favor from me, and he's going to pay me for it if I can get it done?" Romano nodded. "Well, I – I admit I assumed you and I would be spending Christmas together" – he looked up and Romano smiled at him, blushing – "but I couldn't think of what kind of special thing, or special place, we should go to, or do. Right?"

"I'm with you so far."

"So I was thinking of an island, or something, but to me, Christmas means snow. And I suddenly thought that if Switzerland's going to pay me for the favor, maybe I can get it in advance – if I can confirm the favor – and we could ask him for a few weeks at one of his fancy chalets! Wouldn't it be great to spend Christmas in the Alps?"

Well, his excitement _was_ kind of infectious. Romano actually chuckled. "Sounding good, if you can get him to agree. Hmm…snowed into a luxury chalet with you?" His friend blushed. "So what do you have to do for him? And, and, it's getting mighty close to Christmas already. Can you get him what he wants?"

"I'd better set things in motion tomorrow. But listen, I didn't even get to the best part yet." He grinned archly. "Denmark and Prussia can come with us!"

"All right, you have completely lost me there. Why the hell would I want to spend Christmas with those bastards?"

"Aren't they your friends, wanker? Just listen. First: neither of them ever has anything to do on Christmas, either. So we'd be doing them a favor."

"Maybe."

"Second, a luxury chalet is just the place to get them together! Isn't it? That's such a damn brilliant idea, I don't know how my brains stay so cool." England huffed on his fingernails, buffing them on his coat, and Romano laughed. "Our plan will still work, if we do it there, just as well as if we do it here."

"Okay, well, _maybe._"

"Third of all, once we get them together, we can leave them alone to get on with things, and we can go do whatever we want."

Now that had appeal.

"So, what do you think? We'll just move the party plans to Switzerland over Christmas, and keep all the other plans as is."

Romano thought about this. "Assuming you can give Switzerland what he wants. It's not illegal, is it?"

"No, not at all. In fact, maybe when we get back to my place I can find out whether it can be done, and then just email him with the idea." He tapped his finger against his chin, thinking. "Yes, I believe his email's in my computer somewhere. At least then we'd know whether it would work out or not."

"Yeah, but if it doesn't, it's probably too late to get a reservation anywhere. It's already the fifteenth."

"Well, in that case, we could skip the Denmark and Prussia part, and just find a place for you and me, git." England nudged him with his elbow.

"True. Right, so, do we go back to your place now, or do you want to keep shopping?"

"You're my guest, Romano, you decide."

"Cheh. Let's go back to your place. I want to find out if this crazy plan will actually work."

And as they walked down the street, Romano slid his hand into that of his boyfriend, blushing all the way home.


	10. Can I Steal a Little Love?

**Can I Steal a Little Love?**

Romano woke in the night feeling as if someone was watching him, but England lay facing away from him, curled up under the covers. He strained his ears for sounds of an intruder – damn America and his lock picks – but heard nothing at all. Ah, perhaps it was just a dream.

…

After they breakfasted, lounging around in their underwear, England wrote an email to Switzerland asking about the possibility of a vacation home for Christmas. "I _really_ hope he has one we can use," he sighed.

"Yeah, but you still need to fulfill your end of the contract, right, bastard? I mean, what if Swissy says yes, but you can't deliver?" Romano made himself another cup of espresso. He was very touched that England had bought an espresso machine just for his rare visits. Taking the cup, he dropped a kiss on the top of the messy blond hair and went back to the kitchen table.

"Bloody hell, I don't know. I think I can do it, but I'm not going to set it in motion until I hear back from him. There are quite a few other – er – people involved."

Romano was burning with curiosity, but held his tongue. He'd tried to needle England about this yesterday, but the island nation had stood firm and refused to divulge anything.

"Hey, last night I had a really strange feeling. I woke up certain that someone was watching me."

"Probably me. I look at you every time I wake up. I can't believe how lucky I am."

Romano blushed and drank some espresso. "Argh, bastard, you…_argh._ But no, you were facing the other way. I listened in case it was America breaking in again, but didn't hear anything, so I finally just went back to sleep."

"Well, as long as you slept all right. There's no sign of a break-in, is there?" England looked around but didn't see anything out of place. "At any rate, America won't be able to break in any more, unless he climbs up to the second floor. I had bars put over all the ground-floor and first-floor windows. Didn't you notice?"

"Has he tried to break in? Uh, have you even _talked_ to him lately?" Romano was more than just curious; he wondered just what kind of relationship the former colony had with England these days. Of course there were always rumors, but he got the impression that England could barely tolerate America's presence anymore.

"Yes, he called a few weeks ago, something about another film festival, but I was busy, so we didn't talk much."

"Does, does he know about us yet?"

"Probably. I mean, Prussia's probably babbled it all over, and if he hasn't, Francy-pants probably told him."

"But you didn't tell him?"

"No. Why should I? It's none of his business."

Romano considered this. Technically true, but he couldn't help feeling that there would be a fairly serious scene when America found out they were actually dating_._

_Ping!_ England's email alert sounded. "Switzerland already? Yes." He opened the file. "Hmm, all right…yes, so…hmm."

"Well, what_?" _ Romano asked. "Does he agree?" Having had a whole evening and night to come to grips with this idea, he was now really looking forward to the whole Swiss Christmas plan, and held his breath while he waited for England's response.

"Yes. He has a place…damn, it sleeps twenty, but nobody's using it. It's in Interlaken. There's a hot tub, steam room, saunas" – both of them started blushing – "indoor pool, billiards table, game room, and it's right at the bottom of a private ski slope and across from a lake. Wow." He turned to Romano. "Er – do you ski? I don't do it much anymore, but I bet Prussia and Denmark both do."

"Cheh. Let them ski. We can check out the hot tub." Romano walked over and put his arms around England, stroking his pale naked chest with the palms of his hands. "What kind of beds," he asked seductively.

"I – I don't see anything here – ah, bloody hell, Romano, how the hell can I read emails when you're touching me like this?" England tipped his head back and they shared a kiss. He grinned and spun in his chair to face Romano, who surprised both of them by straddling England and sitting on his lap.

"Forget the fucking emails."

…

"I've never made love on the kitchen floor before."

"I wouldn't want to do it very often. I'm cold." England blushed.

"Come over here and let me warm you up again, bastard."

…

Later, after they were cleaned and dressed, Romano felt the sensation of being watched again…but there was no one in the room other than England, who was making notes about the Swiss party.

"Hey, bastard."

"Yes, wanker?" England snorted.

"Is your house haunted?"

"Not that I ever noticed. Why?"

"I've got that damn feeling of being watched again. It's creepy."

England turned from the table. "Are you just noticing this now? I mean, did you ever feel this way when you were here before? That day America broke in? I guess that's the only time you were here before."

"I – I'm not sure," Romano admitted after a bit of thought.

"Well, I don't know of any haunting in this area. Let me know if you feel it again, all right?"

"Sure. Well, I've got to get home, anyway. Keep me posted on the Swissy thing."

England shook his head sadly. "Please don't call him Swissy. I know you're going to forget and call him that to his face, and then…"

"Uh."

"Anyway, I'll let you know what's going on. Why don't you call Prussia and Denmark and let them know about it?"

"Why me? They're your friends too."

"Ah, yeah, but you gits are the bloody Squabble Boys, or whatever?" England started laughing.

"_Skirmish Brothers,_ you idiot."

"Yeah, that. Anyway, call them up. Even if I can't manage to arrange the – thing – for Switzerland,we can probably just pay him rent for use of the place. So I'd say it's a go."

"Won't that be expensive?"

"Won't it be worth it?"

"Ah, bastard, you – "

England pulled him into a sweet goodbye kiss.

…

_You can probably guess who's watching Romano._


	11. Magic

**Magic.**

"I hope you'll consider doing this. Apparently she has wanted to meet you for a very long time."

Flying Mint Bunny cuddled up on England's shoulder. Uni was resting on the rug in front of the fireplace, watching with interest. "It would be nice to meet someone new," Uni offered. "She sounds like a nice girl."

"So you – you'll do it?"

His ear tickled as Flying Mint Bunny nibbled it. "Of course we will. This is our Christmas present to you. We want you to have a nice time in Interlaken with your new friend."

England blushed. "You – you know about Romano?"

"We watch over you. We have to make sure he is treating you right."

"You – you watch us?" Bloody hell, his face was so hot you could fry an egg on it.

Flying Mint Bunny coughed delicately. "Not all the time. Usually when you're out in public."

"Ah – but you've been in the house, too, haven't you? That's why Romano said he felt like he was being watched!"

"Yes. We were really surprised to see that he could sense our presence."

"Has – has anyone else ever sensed you?"

"Russia, sometimes, but you know he's very sensitive to the occult. And it's a long time since you spent any time with him, anyway."

"Don't remind me…So you will go to Liechtenstein's birthday party? All of you? Tink and everyone too?" They both nodded.

"Will you be there?" Uni asked.

"Er, I don't know. Switzerland didn't say anything about that, but I can tell he's disturbed by the idea. He will probably want me to come as a buffer, a distraction, so that Liechtenstein won't feel embarrassed if it turns out you really don't exist. I mean – you know what I mean."

"Yay!" Flying Mint Bunny chortled, leaping into the air to swoop around the room. "A party, a party!"

England ignored this and put his head in his hands. They watch him and Romano? Bollocks.


	12. Baby, It's Cold Outside

**Baby, It's Cold Outside.**

England heaved a massive sigh of relief as the cab drove up to the chalet. All of his plans had worked out perfectly. If that wasn't proof that magic existed, what was?

One: Switzerland had in fact invited both him and Romano over for Liechtenstein's birthday. Since his magical friends had agreed to meet Liechtenstein, but probably wouldn't manifest themselves to other, unknown party guests, Switzerland had decided not to throw a big party, but simply have a low-key day, maybe with a small cake, so that the four nations could enjoy the visit without distractions. So that was sorted. Ah, he still needed to brief Romano on this, though. Well, time enough for that later.

Two: Denmark and Prussia had both agreed to go to Interlaken – even though they both knew that Romano and England would be the only other people there. They'd both professed to be looking forward to it.

Three: Romano had weaseled out of a Veneziano/Germany Christmas, with apparently only a brief panic attack when he'd realized his brother might want to go with them and drag the potato bastard along, too. Luckily Germany had had ideas of his own, and had kept Veneziano too occupied to follow that train of thought to its conclusion.

And four (probably the most important of the four): Flying Mint Bunny and the others had reluctantly agreed not to follow England to the mainland during the vacation.

All four of the friends were due to converge at the chalet today. It was beautiful here, England thought, looking out at the scenery; maybe they should make an annual thing of this?

When the cab pulled up, Prussia ran out onto a balcony on the upper level. "Hey, man! Thank you so much!" England laughed and waved as he pulled his luggage out. He had a suitcase full of clothes and several bags of presents (including the things for the Plan).

"Come help me with this!" he called up.

Prussia ran out into the snow. "This was a brilliant idea, _brilliant, _you are a genius," he said, picking up the suitcase. "Thank you so much. We really need to thank Swissy for this, too."

England snorted. Was he the only one who called Switzerland by his full name anymore? "_Swissy_ has been compensated." He lugged the bags in through the front door. "Denmark here yet? Romano?"

"No, not yet. Hey, wait until you see this place. There's a minibar next to the hot tub."

"Sweet. What else? I know there's a pool, but…"

"A pool? Seriously? How did I miss that?" Prussia dumped England's suitcase in the hallway and ran off to look for it. England sighed and started carrying the luggage upstairs himself.

…

He found a nice unoccupied room with a view of the lake on the front side of the chalet; the ski slope was behind the home. It had a king-sized bed, a fireplace, even a private sauna right inside the room_._

Something he hadn't considered: this chalet had eight individual bedrooms. Would Romano be comfortable sharing with him, knowing Denmark and Prussia were around? Maybe Romano would prefer his own room. Well, they could deal with that when he got here. England wandered around, looking at the rich interior appointments, and then flopped on the bed. Nice big comfortable bed, too.

"Hey, hey, hey," he heard Prussia call. "I found the pool! It's in the basement! Where are you?" He burst into the room. "Did you hear? The pool's in the basement; no wonder I couldn't find it. It's not too big, but it's nice. Bigger than the hot tub, anyway." He waggled his eyebrows.

"In the basement? Isn't it really dark?"

"Well, there's interior lighting. But there's also a gigantic fireplace next to the pool! How cool is that? Damn. I want to move in here. Get out of West's stupid basement."

"Trade one basement for another?"

"Yeah, but, man. Come and look at it." Prussia pulled England off the bed and dragged him all the way downstairs.

…

Romano still hadn't arrived. England was getting a bit worried, so he bundled up and sat on the front porch to wait. Prussia and Denmark were playing in the pool. A huge roaring fire had been lit in the poolside fireplace. It looked really fun and inviting, but the island nation was rather worried about his friend.

A cab came trundling up the driveway slowly. He stood up, hopeful; when Romano popped out of the back seat, England stepped happily down to greet him, but Romano just gave him a look and gestured towards the suitcases. "Help me with this, bastard," he snarled.

When they got inside, they could hear the loud shrieks of the two other nations echoing from the basement. "What the hell?"

"Ah, they're just playing in the pool. So – did you have bad travel, or something?"

"Chigi! Just forget it and help me get this stuff upstairs." They continued hauling the luggage up the stairs until they reached the door of England's chosen room.

"Er, about that. Do you, er, will you share a room with me? It's quite spacious, and it's not near the rooms that Prussia and Denmark chose." He gestured towards his bedroom, but was too nervous to look at Romano.

"Uh."

"It's fine if you want a separate room. This one across the hall is nice. But mine has a fireplace, and a sauna, and a view of the lake, and a balcony…it's really, er, romantic…the other one only has a view of the ski slope and a much smaller fireplace. No sauna or balcony." He blushed and held his breath.

"Sure, I'll share with you, bastard." Romano blushed too. "Just because you have a sauna."

"Of course," England agreed sarcastically. "_Just_ because I have a sauna."

Romano gave him that pissed-off look again, but then smiled weakly. "Ah, dammit, not _just_ for that." He swept him into a hug. "Sorry. It really was a crazy trip, and I kept wondering if it was such a good idea."

"You don't want to be with me for Christmas? That hurts." England picked up the suitcases and moved them into his bedroom before his friend could change his mind.

"Dammit, that's not what I meant, and you know it. It's those two that I'm worried about." Romano looked around the room, whistling. "Whoa. Swissy sure does all right for himself! Son of a bitch, this is a nice room." He wandered all around much as England had done, while the island nation put the suitcases on the bed to be unpacked. "Uh – did you bring the _stuff_?"

"Yes, I brought the _stuff,_ and I also found out –" Ah. Now was probably not the best time to tell Romano that his magical friends had been spying on them. He cleared his throat.

"You found out what?"

"Nothing. Do you want to go down to the pool?"

"Sure. Let me dig out my trunks."

…

"Hey, Romano!" Denmark called from the pool. "Nice to finally see you!"

England laughed and jumped right in. Romano entered the pool a little more sedately.

Soon all four of them were splashing around, relaxing, enjoying the start of their vacation. "Did I tell you you're a genius?" Prussia said, floating on his back.

England splashed him. "Yes, but what the hell, tell me again."

"_You're a fucking genius, Iggy!_" It echoed throughout the whole room.

"Didn't you say there was a minibar down here, git?"

"Ha, no, the minibar is next to the awesome hot tub. Upstairs on the deck."

"Yeah, but," Denmark pointed out, "there's a steam room down here."

"A steam room! Come on, let's go see," Prussia said, trying to drag Romano out of the pool.

"Chigi! Let go, albino potato."

"What? It's just a steam room. _Oh_. Yeah, well, okay, maybe you and Iggy should check it out later, kesesese!"

"Shut up, bastard!" Romano splashed Prussia in the face.

…

Later, the four of them sat down to a delicious meal cooked by Switzerland's on-call chef, who lived in a small house down the street. He'd been placed at their service for the duration of the trip, but would not be staying at the chalet, just coming over to cook each requested meal and then departing.

"Fabulous," Denmark said, pushing his plate away. "I'm going to get fat."

Prussia burped discreetly. "Not if we ski every day."

"Cheh, I'm not skiing. I'm Italian. We don't ski."

"You should try it! You might like it."

"My idea of a good time at a ski chalet is relaxing in the hot tub." Dammit, Romano could feel the blush and he could see England looking a little discomfited too.

"Well, you and Iggy can hang out in the hot tub while Den and I are skiing, right?" Prussia said this in a totally normal conversational voice. Romano couldn't believe it – and then he was proven right when he burst out with another "Kesesese!"

"Just because you can't get a date," he started.

Prussia colored violently. "Shut up!" He threw a piece of spaetzle at Romano.

"No, not a food fight, please!" England screeched. "Swissy will shoot us!"

Whoa. That was like a bucket of cold water to the brain. Everybody calmed down really quickly.

"Fine. Look, is there any shopping that needs to be done?" England went on. Denmark and Romano shared a complicit look. "What? What are you gits cooking up?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," Denmark dismissed it with a wave of the hand. "I have all the Christmas shopping done and all the presents wrapped."

"Shit!" Prussia yelled. "We need a Christmas tree!"

"Isn't there one already up? Switzerland had everything prepared, so I assumed there would be a tree."

"Cheh, he dropped the ball on that one. I didn't see a tree anywhere."

Denmark thought about this, too. "Well, then, first thing tomorrow morning we should go get a tree."

"But we don't have any decorations."

"I'm not sitting around and doing artsy-craftsy tree-decorating shit, bastards."

"Nobody's asking you to. Shut up a minute." Denmark poked Romano's arm and then put his chin in his hand, thinking. "Right, well, we could put up a tree with no decorations, couldn't we? I mean, trees are nice _au naturel_."

"Kesesese! I'm pretty nice _au naturel,_ too, Den."

England and Romano froze and looked at each other in amazement, but didn't say a word. Unfortunately Denmark didn't respond to this either. Prussia pouted.

"Yeah," Denmark finally said, coming out of his reverie. "We just need a tree and a tree stand. It will look nice with the presents under it; that ought to be enough decoration."

"Where're we going to put it?"

"Let's go look around."

After some searching, the four of them decided to erect the tree in the huge two-story great hall. There was plenty of room for a tree, and all the presents they could imagine heaping under it.

"Now we just need to figure out where to get a tree."

"Ah, we can ask the cook when he comes to make breakfast."

…

"Hey, I'm really tired; it was a long drive here. I'm, I'm going up to bed," Romano stammered.

Denmark discreetly looked away, but of course Prussia couldn't let this pass without comment. "Aren't you going with him, Iggy?"

"I think I will. At least I can get away from you, wanker," he snapped.

Denmark laughed. Romano and England headed up the stairs, not looking at each other.

…

"D'you want to check out the sauna, bastard?"

England smiled lazily.

After they'd settled in on the wooden bench, he mused, "I wonder why Prussia didn't want this bedroom? It's definitely the nicest one in the place, and he got here first. In fact, this is probably Switzerland's bedroom when he stays here."

Each of them spiraled away in his own thoughts, until Romano smacked himself in the forehead.

"What? Did you burn yourself?"

"No, dammit…I was just thinking about Switzerland and Austria."

"What about them? Why did you – oh. _Oh_. Er, no, there's no way. Not them. Not in a _sauna._"

"But could you really – relax – in here, now that this has occurred to us?"

England considered. "Maybe not. Let's just enjoy the sauna and then go to bed."

Romano kissed him. "That's fine with me." They kissed some more, enjoying the sauna's dry heat.

"Screw it," England finally said, "I don't care if they _did_ have sex in here." He grabbed Romano and pushed him down onto the sauna bench.

"That's exactly what I was thinking."

…


	13. The One Thing

**The One Thing.**

"We have things to do, bastards, so we'll see you in the morning, all right?" England and Romano needed to wrap up all the stuff and put it in strategic locations around the chalet for Prussia and Denmark to discover on Christmas morning. They'd been meaning to at least wrap the things before Christmas Eve, but kept getting distracted.

"Things to do, huh? Well, we all know what kind of awesome _things_ you two –"

"Shut up, Prussia," Denmark interrupted, throwing a pillow at him. "Just let them go."

Romano ran for it.

Prussia looked mildly hurt, but shrugged. "Whatever. See you on Christmas morning, then, Iggy?"

"Yes. Merry Christmas, wankers."

Denmark just waved at him.

Romano was already inside the room before England caught up to him. "Denmark must be nuts. That git drives me up the wall sometimes."

"Cheh, well, at least nobody's trying to fix one of us up with him." They grinned together a little at that idea. "Where is the _stuff_?"

"In the closet. I'll get it. I put scissors, wrapping paper and tape on the desk by the window. Will you bring it over?"

"We should light a fire, too."

"If you get a fire started, I'll get going on the wrapping."

"Sure." Romano moved to the fireplace.

Eventually there were three shopping bags of things on the floor in front of the fire, and England (messily) and Romano (competently) wrapped each one, turning them over and discussing them. "I really hope this works. If that blockheaded albino potato still doesn't get it, then I have no idea what else we can do."

"Sit on him and give him a lecture?" England didn't relish that idea.

"Ah, no, unfortunately, Denmark's the only one who can sit on Prussia."

He gave Romano a funny look. "Who made up a stupid rule like that? On the other hand, if it was Prussia's idea, then maybe our work is halfway done."

"No, no," Romano snorted, "it's just because I can't manage to pin him down. He's too strong for me."

"He pins you down?"

"Well, once. He and Den wanted to see what kind of underwear I was wearing."

"_What?_"

"Never mind, it was stupid. Just horsing around last summer."

"Did they get to see what you were wearing?"

"Nope."

"Well, you must have been strong enough to fight them off, then, so I don't see what the problem is."

"I, uh…I just told them I wasn't wearing any."

England dropped the present he was wrapping. "Bloody hell, Romano, you _are_ a demon. Are – are you wearing any now?"

"Of course I am, bastard."

"Blast."

"Don't get sidetracked. We've put this off long enough; we need to get it done tonight."

…

The things were all wrapped and packed back into the shopping bags. "We probably shouldn't go put these out until after midnight."

"Git. You think they're going to stay up and wait for Santa?"

"Shut up." Romano hit him with the roll of wrapping paper. "We have to go all over the house, so I don't want to risk waking them up, or running into them if they're still in the pool or whatever."

"But that means we have two more hours to wait with nothing to do."

"When did that ever stop us, idiot? Want to use the sauna for a while?"

"No. I still have splinters in my knees from last time."

Romano turned bright red. "_Chigi!_ I meant just to _use_ the sauna. The way a sauna's supposed to be used."

"Oh. Well, no, then." England lay back on the rug in front of the fire.

"What do you mean?"

"I thought you wanted to fool around. I'm not in the mood for the sauna, though. It's already pretty warm in here."

"We – we could fool around if you want, bastard," Romano offered shyly.

England grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him closer. "You know, I think what I like best about you is your smooth talking."

"Shut up!" Romano rolled on top of him. "Just – shut up, all right?" He kissed England on that same infuriating pulse point that always drove him nuts, right under his ear, kissed and licked it until he felt England moan and shift beneath him.

"I – I take it back," England choked out, as he felt Romano's hands caress his shoulders, Romano's mouth on his earlobe.

"Take what back?"

"I like this better," the island nation moaned, pushing his hands through the dark hair.

…

"Oh, hell. It's two in the morning! Wake up, git!"

"Dammit, I knew this was gonna happen."


	14. The Man with the Bag

**The Man with the Bag.**

"Shh," Romano cautioned, tiptoeing down the steps.

"Don't shush me. I'm being perfectly quiet."

As they approached the last step, they could see a faint light coming from the great hall. Firelight? They looked at each other in concern. It was nearly three in the morning! Why would Prussia and Denmark still be awake? Unless they really were waiting for Santa. England snorted.

"I said 'shh'!" Romano had one bag and England two, and they had decided to start with the gifts for under the tree. They crept into the big room – which was indeed still lit by firelight – and they almost dropped the bags: their friends were sitting on the rug in front of the bright fire, intimately cuddled together, sharing soft kisses.

"What the fuck!" Romano yelled, and did drop his bag. Denmark jumped guiltily, but Prussia just leaned back and grinned at them. At least they were still fully-dressed.

"Hey, guys. Merry Christmas."

England just stood stunned, mouth open, not moving.

"What? Hey, Den, come back, I'm getting cold again."

Denmark didn't look at Romano or England, but settled down a few inches further away from Prussia than he'd initially been.

England finally got his wits together. "Right, right, what the hell? What are you wankers doing?"

"What does it look like? Kesesese! The awesome me is dating the even-more-awesome Denmark. Got a problem with that?"

"Er – since when?"

"I don't know, Den, what, about six months?"

"Six fucking months?" Romano kicked the bag of presents out of the way. "Why the hell have you been keeping it a secret, you bastards? You couldn't even tell _me_?"

Denmark finally looked up and must have found Romano's expression really funny, because he started laughing like crazy.

"What, what, what?" Romano demanded. "Come on, tell me!"

Prussia unwrapped a candy from the bowl next to him and ate it nonchalantly. "Might as well tell them, Den; I can tell the dangerous fucking bastard isn't going to give up so easily."

"But – all this stuff!" England wailed, flinging the bags to the side and coming over to the fire. "You complete _gits_." Romano followed, and they sat on the rug next to the others. The island nation put his head in his hands.

There were a few moments of silence, during which everyone could almost hear the head of steam Romano was building up. Just before he exploded, England leaned over and hugged him, which defused his anger at Prussia and Denmark, but –

"Chigi! Not in front of everybody!"

Denmark laughed. "Oh, come on, why not? It's not like we don't know you're together."

"It's not like we don't know you _like it~,"_ Prussia sang out.

"It's not like they weren't just doing the same damn thing, wanker."

"Fine." Romano leaned over and gave England a cursory peck on the lips.

"Whoo, Romano, that's so sexy," Prussia cackled. "No wonder you have such a reputation."

"I'm going to kill you someday, albino potato."

"All right, look, you fighting, fucking boozers," Denmark laughed. "Let's all just shut up and calm down. If you want me to talk about it, I will, but you two have to shut up."

"Romano will shut up," England said.

"What? Why?"

"Because I want to hear what Denmark is going to say! And if you don't shut up, I'll just cover your mouth so you can't talk. Now shush."

"Yeah, all right, as long as Prussia shuts up too."

"Hey, it's no sweat for the awesome me to shut up."

"Shut up!"

They finally shut up. Denmark calmly explained. The island nation was rather surprised that Denmark would have willingly started dating the albino, but it sounded like they were pretty sincere about it.

Romano and England just stared in disbelief, cuddled together and listening. "I can not fucking believe this. Bastards."

"Anyway, we were having so much fun together that we felt guilty about poor Romano being alone, so I decided to set you up together with those kissing lessons."

"Yeah, uh, thanks…They were great." Romano blushed.

"Is that what they were doing? Damn. You should have said, Den!"

England got a reminiscing look on his face, but then came back to the moment. "You are such a bloody wanker, Denmark." He nudged him with his foot.

"Why? Aren't you guys having fun together?"

"That is not the point! Romano and I have been spending all our free time trying to figure out a way to do you a good turn in repayment, and it turns out that our goal of hooking up you and Prussia is no goal at all! We've wasted so much bloody time on this project!"

Denmark just laughed, but Prussia said, "You were going to hook us up as repayment? That's so damn sweet, Iggy."

"And you!" Romano yelled at Prussia. "You're always going on about my underwear! Why the hell would you do that if you were dating someone else?"

All three of his friends broke into laughter at that. Romano looked at England in irritation and then suddenly leaned over and kissed him.

"Wh–what was that for?"

"Dammit, do I need a reason?"

"So," Denmark then asked, "what's in the bags? Christmas presents?"

"Yes." England pushed a hand through his hair. "We got some things to get you that would help you realize your attraction to each other, things to share, and then some things you could have fun with on dates. And that's what's in the bags."

"Cool! Can we still have it?"

"Greedy albino bastard. No."

"Why not? There are some bloody good items in those bags, and I'd hate to see them go to waste. Just give them the bags."

"Awesome! Early Christmas presents! Woohoo!"

"We get to open them now, right?" Denmark asked.

"Of course! It's past midnight, so it's officially Christmas, gits."

"Turn the lights on, Romano; I want to see better." Denmark threw a few more logs on the fire.

Romano turned on the lights while England fetched the bags of presents. There were twelve total items, some funny, some sweet, some utilitarian, and some downright smutty. "These _are _awesome. Thanks, guys."

"Merry Christmas, bastards."

"And Denmark?" England gave their friend a sweet, soft gaze. "Thank you very much." He took Romano's hand and kissed it.

"Dammit! But…yeah…thanks, Den."

…

At about five in the morning England and Romano made their sleepy way back to the big bedroom. "What an exhausting night," the island nation said, falling onto the bed.

"Yeah, but you know what?" Romano asked, climbing onto the bed next to him, wrapping his arms around his tired friend. "This was the best Christmas ever."

England smiled sleepily. "And it's not even really Christmas yet," he yawned. "Wait till you see what I got you."

"I've got you, bastard, I don't need anything else."

…


	15. Crazy on You

**Crazy on You.**

Prussia was banging on the bedroom door, yelling, "Come on, you two! The sun is shining – it's _Christmas~! _Santa came last night, and there are _presents_…_and_ it's ten fucking o'clock in the morning! Nobody should have to wait until ten o'clock to open presents. Come on, get up."

England slipped out of bed and padded to the door. "Shut it. We were up 'til five, remember? Just control yourself."

The albino gave him a rare sweet smile. "Ah, come on, Iggy, don'tcha wanna see what Santa brought for you? It's awesome."

"How do you know?" Then England scowled. "Bollocks. It's not like there really is a Santa, you know."

"Kesesese! Come on, get up, come downstairs, come see what Swissy did for us!"

"All right. Give us a little time, please."

"Sure. Merry Christmas, Romano!" he called out, running back down the stairs.

Romano lay on the bed and groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Noisy bastard."

"Well, we're awake now, might as well get up." England rooted through the wardrobe for something to wear. Romano just grunted. "You know he'll just come back and start yelling again if we don't come down."

Ten minutes later, dressed and clean, Romano started to leave the room, but his friend grabbed him by the arm. "Wait."

"What?"

"I – er. Your present. I didn't put it under the tree. It, ah, well, I'd rather have you unwrap it up here."

"Why? What the hell is it?"

"Well, I'm not going to tell you; you have to open it!"

"If that's what you prefer, then, fine. Where is it?"

England bent and removed a large, flat wooden box with clasps from under the bed. "I didn't want to waste paper, so I didn't wrap the box." He placed it reverently on the bed and stood back.

Romano gave him a curious look, but sat on the bed to open it. He slowly opened the side catches and lifted off the lid to reveal something wrapped in thick white paper. Looking at England instead of the gift, he slowly peeled back the loosely-folded paper. England was nervously staring into the box. "What's the matter, bastard?"

"Just – just look at it, please." His voice was hoarse. Romano started to get worried. What the hell could this thing be? He pushed the paper fully aside and looked into the box.

For a few moments there was no sound but Romano's ragged breathing as he fought to hold back the tears. "You – how did you," he swallowed and swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand, "England, how?"

"You – you like it?" England's voice was filled with relief.

"'La Magdalena'…that bastard Spain has had this painting for two hundred years…I've tried to get it back, but he never would, no matter how much I offered." Romano was crying openly now. "How did you get it back from him? _How_?" He couldn't look away from the box. "It's so beautiful."

England handed him a tissue. "Don't – don't cry on the painting, Romano. I – I'm pretty good at negotiating, you know." He placed a supportive hand on the back of his friend's neck. "I made him an offer he couldn't refuse."

This drew Romano's attention away from the painting, although he was still crying softly. "What – what the hell did you do?" He raised the tissue to his eyes again.

"Never you mind. Merry Christmas."

Romano snorted through his tears. "Come here." England stepped closer and the half-nation held him tightly around the waist. The blond stroked his hair while Romano fought to get his emotions under control. "You, you're unbelievable, you know that?"

"So are you, mio demone." This just made Romano cry harder, and he pressed his face into England's stomach.

After a few more quiet moments like this, he let go, looking back at the beautiful 16th-century painting. "Uh…thank you for giving it to me up here." He hugged England briefly again, sniffling. "I wouldn't want to be crying like this in front of those bastards. They wouldn't understand. Let me wash off my face, all right?"

"Of course. I'll repack the painting and put it back under the bed."

Romano went into the bathroom and washed his face with cool water, trying to get rid of the evidence of his crying. Dammit, England was a fucking sentimental bastard. He smiled softly, drying his face, and came back out into the bedroom. "Listen."

"I'm listening."

"I – I'm still feeling kind of, of, fragile at the moment…and, and I know that when I feel this way, the least little thing can make me, uh, start crying again…so, will you just act normal down there? No boyfriend stuff?"

England looked crestfallen. "You mean not even any Christmas hugs? No cuddling together? Well, if it makes you happy, I can do that."

Romano squeezed his hand. "Thanks. I'll make it up to you." They walked downstairs together…not holding hands.

"Jeez, took you two long enough," Prussia waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Dammit, don't you _ever_ shut up?"

"Hey, guys." Denmark came into the great hall with a plate heaped with food.

"Where'd you get all that food?" England's jaw dropped.

"Oh, man, you guys gotta come see this. Come on." Prussia led the way into the dining room – where an enormous buffet breakfast was set out, with everything from scones to ham, and omelets, and cake.

"What the hell? Switzerland's chef came over to do all this?"

Denmark laughed. "Nope. Some caterers came over about seven o'clock and set it all up. The hot stuff they put in the kitchen and told me and Prussia how to fix it up when we were ready."

Romano went straight to the coffeepot. "This is unbelievable." He took a sip of coffee and then started loading a plate with food. "Dammit, I'm starving. This is great."

"England, I have to ask you something, it's been bugging me all week." Denmark poured another cup of coffee. "All this" – he waved his hands around at the chalet, the food – "this is some pretty fancy stuff. Caterers working on Christmas day? What exactly did you do for Swissy, that's worth all this? He's normally so stingy!"

Before England could answer, Romano turned and snapped, "He can't _tell_ us. Confidentiality agreement."

"Whoa! Was it a hit man contract? I bet it was," Prussia said with wide eyes. "Shit, I hope it works out. I'd hate to think what all this would cost if you couldn't deliver and actually had to pay him."

"Cheh, you'd have to help pay too, bastard."

"Why does everybody think Switzerland and I are involved in hit man stuff? You guys are all tossers."

"Well, then, tell us."

"I can't. Romano was right. I have a confidentiality agreement. But," he argued, before they could shove their oars in again, "after January twenty-third, I'll be able to tell you, if you still care."

"That's almost a month away. I don't know if I can wait that long, kesesese."

"Nothing you can do about it, wanker."

After both England and Romano had the food they wanted, everyone went back into the great hall. "You said something about Santa?"

"Yeah, check it out! Look at all the stuff. And that's besides the Swissy breakfast stuff, too. What a great day this is going to be."

Everyone sat around and ate while Denmark played elf and handed out presents.

"You should have a Santa hat," Romano joked.

"Ngh," Prussia said, biting into a piece of cake.

"What?"

"Just thinking about Den in a Santa hat," Prussia said airily.

"What's so _ngh_ about that, wanker?"

Romano snickered. "Ah, ha ha, he means _just_ in a Santa hat, don't you, albino potato?"

Silence while Prussia stared up at the Christmas tree, blushing. Denmark took a drink of coffee to hide his face.

This was followed by roaring laughter from the other two.

"Ha, that would be bloody hilarious," England gasped out.

"Good thing we don't have a Santa hat around," Romano agreed.

"Can we get on with the presents?" Denmark tried to sound businesslike, but he was too excited. He brought Prussia and England each a big oblong box.

"You got me a gift, Den?" England was confused.

"That's from me, bastard. Denmark helped me pick it out, though."

Prussia was already eagerly opening his box. "_Sweet_! Denmark, this is awesome! You are awesome!" He opened the box further to display a hollow-body Gretsch electric bass. "Yes!" He stood up, struck a pose, and played a little riff. "Damn, I'm hot." Denmark laughed at him.

England, who had watched this in astonishment, suddenly opened his box, while Prussia continued to play around with his bass.

"Romano! _Romano!_"

Denmark and the half-nation both started grinning at the excited look on England's face. Prussia turned to look. "What is it?"

"It's more awesome than yours, git." From the box he drew a gleaming Rickenbacker electric guitar with the Italian flag airbrushed on it. "How on earth did you know?" he breathed to Romano. "And the bloody Italian flag!"

"Like I said, bastard, Den helped."

"I knew you were coveting that one," Denmark offered. "I didn't know he'd had the Italian flag 'brushed on, though."

"Th-thank you so much, Romano," he blushed, looking at his friend. "Now we don't have to listen to Prussia all day!" He sat the guitar on his lap and played a little bit. Romano was surprised at the weak plinking sound that came from the instrument. "Too bad I don't have an amp, though."

"Kesesese, well, I guess you will have to listen to me all day!"

Denmark got a funny smile and handed England and Prussia each a little box.

"Now what?"

"These are from me. Open them."

"How cute! Tiny little amps!"

England plugged his in right away and sat on the floor cross-legged, messing around tuning the guitar. "Thanks, Denmark."

"Wait a minute," Romano said, "just wait. What about Denmark? Didn't you get him anything, potato brain?"

"Oh yeah! Over in the corner." Prussia waved his hand towards a big lumpy thing covered with a blanket. "Go take the blanket off, Den. This is going to be the rockin'-est Christmas ever, ever, _ever, _kesesese! Open it, open it. Iggy, you _are_ a fucking genius; I just hope you don't piss Swissy off. I want to do this again next Christmas."

Denmark pulled the blanket off and began laughing hysterically. "How did you know?" It was an electronic drum kit. "Where the hell did you get the money?"

"Uh, I borrowed some from West…and Austria…and Hungary…and Iggy…Well, you told me Romano was getting that Rick for him, so it seemed like a good idea. He helped me set it up yesterday without you seeing it, when you and Romano were in the pool. _Rock_!" he suddenly yelled in exuberance.

Denmark carefully moved the drums into the middle of the room.

"Can you bastards actually play together? You talk about it all the time, but I've never heard you play, or, or England singing," Romano blushed, remembering the times England had sung to him at Barracuda. "Not for real."

"Yeah, we can play," Denmark said, fiddling with the drums. "What about you, though? Didn't England get you a present?"

Romano flushed deeply. "Uh, yes, he did…he gave it to me upstairs."

"I bet he did! Kesesese! Was it good? I bet it was!"

"Is your mind always in the fucking gutter, albino potato?" Romano started to launch himself at Prussia, who held up his bass in defense. Romano didn't want to damage the new gift, so he backed down. "Play something for me," he then demanded.

The three of them thought a minute, waiting for England to come up with a song choice. He stood up, adjusted the guitar, and started the quick opening notes to Heart's "Crazy on You."

"Yeah!" Prussia yelled, and he and Denmark joined in, and they played better than they ever had before. Prussia and England jumped all over the place while they played and sang; Romano just sat back and enjoyed the show.

As England's voice and Prussia's bass ended the song, the island nation threw his head back and sighed in happiness.

"Best bloody Christmas ever… even though I had to spend it with you wankers," he laughed, and went over to Romano. "Did you like it? Are we good?"

"Cheh. You're all right, I guess," but Romano couldn't keep the blush off his cheeks. "Yeah, you were amazing." He kissed England's cheek. "Fun to watch, too. Play some more?"

They looked over at the other two; Prussia was explaining the merits of his new bass to Denmark.

"Oi, you guys want to play some more?"

"Yes!"

The friends spent much of the day playing and singing for Romano, who, although not a rock fan, enjoyed the impromptu concert very much. England was so obviously having fun. Romano worried briefly that he was a boring boyfriend, but every time he caught the blond's eye, he was surprised by the tender expression on his face. Dammit, he was thankful for Denmark's meddling.

…

At the end of the day they went upstairs, exhausted but happy. "Mind if I shower? All that jumping around got me really sticky." England blushed when he said that.

"Sure, go ahead. There's a full moon – I'm going to turn the couch around so we can sit down and look out at the lake, all right?"

"That's a great idea."

He came out of the shower in pajama pants, toweling off his hair, and came to sit on the couch. Romano leaned up against his shoulder, and he leaned down to scoop Romano's legs over his lap. "You can be closer to someone this way," he snarked, "face-to-face instead of side-to-side, you see?"

"Bastard."

They cuddled in the moonlight for a while, occasionally sharing a soft kiss. "Romano?"

"Mm?"

"This really has been the best Christmas ever. I'm so – so glad we're together."

Romano stroked his hair and gazed into his eyes, reflecting the full moon hanging over the lake, then leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Let's stay together," he murmured, holding England close.

England's arms tightened around him. "Best idea you've ever had."

…

_Denmark gave them Honeytone amps, which are about the size of four stacked slices of bread._

_This was the original end of "Songs about Life."_


	16. Liechtenstein's Birthday Party

_This was originally a standalone sequel to "Songs about Life," just to get closure on that storyline._

…

**Liechtenstein's Birthday Party.**

"So, next weekend is my thing with Switzerland. Do you want to come along? He did invite you." England poured himself a cup of tea, cradling the phone between ear and shoulder.

"He did? But I don't even know what this damn 'thing' is, bastard. How can I decide if I want to go?"

"Yes, but I'm still bound by the confidentiality agreement. How can I tell you what it is?"

An impasse, while they considered this.

"Well, forget it then, bastard. I have plenty of stuff I can do that day, it's not like I have to spend it with you."

"Look, Romano, don't get shirty with me. I'm honoring a prior commitment. Or would you prefer to risk Switzerland's anger?"

"Yeah, I understand. I just hate this, that you can't tell me."

"I know; it's not making me happy either. But really…it's kind of trivial."

"Swissy splashed out that much money for something _trivial_?"

"Trivial to you or me, I mean. We don't have the same kind of priorities that he does."

Romano scoffed. "I'll say. Well, give me a call when you're done, maybe you can come over or something."

"That sounds good. I'll probably need some de-stress time afterwards."

They talked for a few more minutes of this and that before hanging up for the night.

England sighed. He had the Liechtenstein plans all set up; his magical friends knew about it and were prepared to go to the party. In any case, he did want to talk to Switzerland about the chalet, so it was a good opportunity.

…

When the 23rd arrived, England donned a suit and tie and left for Switzerland's house. His magical friends had assured him they'd meet him there, and he had no concerns on that point. Captain Hook and his leprechaun friend had opted out of the party, in case they made the birthday girl uneasy, so only Tink, Uni and Flying Mint Bunny would be joining them.

England turned off his cell phone, not wanting to be ungentlemanly and take calls in the middle of a party. Especially not at Switzerland's place; that could be risky. He slipped it back into his pocket and rang the doorbell.

Before anyone came to answer, his friends surrounded him. "Hey, I'm so happy to see you all!" He rubbed the heads of the animals, letting Tink kiss him on the nose. They heard a shuffling inside the house.

Switzerland looked around as he opened the door. "England, thank you for coming. Were your friends unable to join us?" He got a slightly irritated frown on his face.

"Ah, well, Switzerland." The island nation paused for a few seconds before entering the home; this was to allow his friends to precede him, but Switzerland couldn't see them, of course. "They're here with me, but our contract was for Liechtenstein to see them – not you. I hope you understand. This is a quite radical departure from the norm for them – or for me." He pushed his hands through his hair, hoping he wasn't going to be stuck speaking like a lawyer all day.

Switzerland huffed. "This is all so very irregular," he muttered, leading the way through the house. "But I suppose it has to be done this way. Please come into the parlor; I have set up tea and cakes, and Liechtenstein is waiting for her surprise."

"Does she know what the surprise will be?"

The Alpine nation actually got a fond smile on his face. "I told her some friends were coming to visit – not who those friends were."

"You're a very thoughtful brother."

Switzerland nodded. "Liechtenstein means everything to me."

"I would like to ask you a favor, though, before we go into the parlor." England held his breath and hoped he wouldn't get shot for asking this.

"What favor?"

"Since you'll be unable to see my friends, I would be most strongly appreciative if you could – if you could divest yourself of your firepower for the afternoon."

Switzerland frowned. "What, _all_ my guns?"

"I have reasons. For example, if you see Liechtenstein physically moving in a way you think might be impossible – for example, floating a few feet off the ground, or approaching you at too high a rate of speed – I don't want you to accidentally shoot her in a panic."

A moment while Switzerland considered this. "That is a valid point." He removed the Desert Eagle from the holster at his waist. England watched in amazement as he then slid a Sig Sauer from an underarm holster. Then he shrugged the rifle off his back. This appeared to be everything – but then Switzerland bent and pulled a .357 Magnum revolver from each boot and put them on the table. Bloody hell.

The two of them stepped into the parlor. Liechtenstein was sitting at a large ornate table that had a beautiful china tea service on it. She looked pretty, in a frilly dress, not wearing the usual military-style clothing she normally favored. England considered her objectively. She looked much more appropriate this way.

When the girl saw them approach, she got an astonished look on her face and stood up. "England? How nice to see you," she said politely. Switzerland was madly looking around him, apparently for evidence that the magical friends would appear.

"Happy birthday, Liechtenstein," England said, handing her a flat, wrapped package. She placed it on the table.

"Thank you." Turning to Switzerland, she told him how nice it was that he'd invited England, whom they rarely got to see.

Switzerland was getting anxious. He looked at England questioningly.

"Ah, yes. Liechtenstein, Switzerland has arranged a very special gift for you this year. Can you step over here?"

With a quizzical look at her brother, she did as requested, and then her face beamed in astonishment as Uni materialized in front of her.

"Oh!" she cried, clapping her hands together. "Oh, England! Oh, Bruder!" Her young face was beaming as she turned to Switzerland.

"Liechtenstein, this is Uni. Uni – Liechtenstein."

"I'm so very pleased to meet you," Uni said quietly. "England has told me a little bit about you, but you are even prettier in person." Liechtenstein, still unable to speak for excitement, blushed.

"What? What?" Switzerland growled in the background, staring at the empty space before Liechtenstein.

"And this is Tinkerbell." The tiny fairy flew up to hover above Uni's head.

"How beautiful!" Liechtenstein extended her hand, and Tink landed on it like a butterfly. "Hello!"

Flying Mint Bunny appeared on England's shoulder. "Oh! A bunny!"

"Yes, this is Flying Mint Bunny."

"Hey, Liechtenstein," Flying Mint Bunny said. "Are you having a good birthday?"

"I am now!" she sighed in happiness.

When England turned back to Switzerland he was alarmed to see the confused rage on his face. "Uh – guys – why don't you and Liechtenstein go explore the house for a while? I need to talk to Switzerland."

"Oh, Bruder," the birthday girl sighed, coming to embrace Switzerland. "Thank you so much. This is a wonderful gift! Is it all right with you if I show them our home?" Her brother nodded curtly, and she skipped off, apparently alone, apparently speaking to the air.

The sound of her footsteps pattered off in the distance. "Please have a seat," Switzerland gestured with a sigh.

England knew he had to eliminate his host's tension. A change of topic should do it. "Thank you again for the generous use of the chalet. We had a wonderful time. It's remarkably beautiful in Interlaken."

"I know. I bought that chalet many years ago, but it has turned out to be too large for my needs, and so it stands empty. I've never even stayed there."

Well, that answered the sauna question, at least. England fought to restrain a grin. "Isn't it expensive to keep the staff on call? Not to mention the headaches of administration."

"I have a management firm that keeps it up for me. One phone call sets everything in motion." Switzerland poured out some tea for England and coffee for himself. "I trust it was satisfactory?"

"More than satisfactory. We're already discussing whether we should rent it from you next Christmas, assuming you're amenable." This was a bit of a stretch, but it at least provided a conversation point.

"I don't mind a bit, but I've actually been thinking of selling that one. It's too similar to my chalet in Lausanne."

"You – would you sell it to me?" He held his breath. Ah, but he probably couldn't afford it, even if Romano and the others chipped in.

Switzerland cocked an eyebrow at him. "You really liked it that much?"

His guest blushed. "I – yes, we did – but upon reflection, I could probably not afford to buy it. Not at this time." He took a sip of tea. "What's the market value, if I might ask?"

"About eight million Euros, I'm guessing. When I bought it, it was less than that, but it's been upgraded and well-maintained, and Interlaken property values have gone up significantly in recent years."

England sighed. "Yes, eight million Euros is out of my league, I'm afraid…at least for a home that would only see use at Christmastime."

"Why limit yourself to Christmastime?" Of course. If Switzerland could scent a profit, he'd push the discussion forward. "Interlaken is beautiful at all times of the year."

That was a valid point, too. "You're rather persuasive, Switzerland, but there's still the matter of finances to consider." He sipped at his tea again. "Let me look into it when I get back home."

From elsewhere in the house they could hear Liechtenstein's delighted laughing. England, of course, could hear his friends, but Switzerland was clearly discomfited at the girl's unanswered giggles.

"This is all so difficult for me," he muttered. "How can I be comfortable in a situation like this? It's completely outside my experience."

"Don't worry. My friends will make sure no harm comes to her. However, I do have a favor to ask you about today." He looked down into his teacup. "You know that most nations don't believe in my magical friends, who tell me that only one other nation has been able to sense them – well, two now," he said, fondly thinking of Romano, before recollecting his audience and forcing his mind back to the conversation. "No others have actually laid eyes on them. At any rate, although I'm comfortable with them – assisting – with Liechtenstein's birthday this year, this will not be a regular occurrence, unless they want it to be. This is not something I would have done for any other nation." Well, Romano, maybe, if he'd really wanted it, but he doubted that would ever happen. "I don't want this to become a type of favor that other nations begin asking for." He pushed his hands through his hair. "Ah, I'm just asking you and Liechtenstein to keep it confidential."

"Certainly. I believe that my sister will treasure the knowledge that she is only the second nation to see them," he smiled smugly. "I'll discuss it with her after you've left."

"Thanks, Switzerland. I appreciate your willingness to cooperate."

The two drank in silence for a few minutes before Liechtenstein and the friends came back into the room. "Bruder, this is the best gift ever. Thank you, England!" She turned to the friends. "Do you drink tea?"

"It gets in my fur," Flying Mint Bunny apologized.

"I drink tea, if you can serve it to me in a saucer." This from Uni.

Tinkerbell floated around in the air. "I don't drink! Thank you for offering, though."

Liechtenstein sat next to Switzerland and poured tea into a saucer for Uni.

"Uni takes two sugars," England offered; Liechtenstein smiled at him and dropped two sugar lumps into the saucer.

Switzerland, who had been calm before Liechtenstein's entrance, was looking agitated again – especially when the saucer of tea appeared to be evaporating at a high rate of speed. England sought for something to defuse the situation. "Why don't you open your gift?" he suggested to the birthday girl.

"Oh yes. Thank you." She carefully unwrapped the present England had brought. It was a well-done sketch of the three magical friends, inside a plain but high-quality frame. "England, this is beautiful!" She showed it to Switzerland and then turned to the friends. "Now I will always be able to remember our special day together."

"You should cut the cake," Switzerland suggested, so she did. Flying Mint Bunny accepted a small slice of cake, since it was carrot cake, but Uni and Tinkerbell declined.

The three nations sat, drinking tea and chatting politely, with the occasional interruption from one of the magical friends. England had to periodically force Switzerland into a side conversation to eliminate the discomfort he could so clearly see on his face. The Alpine nation was surprisingly easy to distract this way.

After the cake had been consumed, Liechtenstein politely requested to be excused. "I'd like to show them around the grounds, Bruder, is that permissible?"

"Just make sure you dress warmly," her brother warned her. "It's quite cold out." He turned to England. "Will your friends be all right in the snow?"

England nodded. "It won't be a problem. Have fun," he said to his friends.

They and Liechtenstein left the room.

…

"I'm curious about why no other nations can see you," Liechtenstein asked as she pulled on her sheepskin-lined boots. Earlier they'd explained her brother's agitation about them. "Surely there are plenty of nations that believe in magic?"

"It's getting more and more difficult, with all the scientific advances in the world. And every nation has its own type of magic, tied to the land. So, for example, even if your brother believed in magic, he might not be able to see us." Flying Mint Bunny swooped around the foyer.

"I very much appreciate being able to meet you. I've been asking Switzerland to approach England about it for many years. I suppose he finally got tired of me asking, so he broached the topic for this year." After she shrugged her coat on, they all went out into the beautiful snow-covered gardens. Of course at this time of year, there was very little foliage to be seen, but the layout and structure of the garden clearly showed the extraordinary effort that had gone into its planning.

They wandered around the cleared paths, Liechtenstein explaining the areas as they proceeded: the linden gardens, the rows of cultivated land where they planted endive each year. Flying Mint Bunny rode on her shoulder, and she periodically reached up to pet the creature's head.

"Your brother loves you very much," Tink offered after a while.

"Yes. Switzerland has cared for me exceptionally well, for a very long time. I love him very much, too."

"I believe England plans to ask him to keep our visit confidential. Will you be able to do that? I know Switzerland is strong on firepower, but England can call on magic forces if he needs to defend himself." Flying Mint Bunny sounded very earnest.

Liechtenstein considered this. At the moment, surrounded by England's cute "imaginary" friends, magic as a threat didn't seem too scary – but then, there were probably other, darker colleagues in England's magic arsenal. "I understand completely," she finally acquiesced. "I won't mention it to anyone, and I'll make sure Bruder doesn't either. I don't imagine a gun can do much against a magic attack," she sighed.

…

Liechtenstein showed the friends around for about another hour before getting cold and wanting to go in. Uni graciously allowed her to ride, and they headed towards the house. Unfortunately, Switzerland was looking out the window, and when he saw his younger sister apparently floating a few feet off the ground, laughing, he freaked out. "What is going on?" He jumped out of his chair.

England looked out the window and stood to restrain his host. "Switzerland, stop. She's riding the unicorn, that's all. Hmm, I'm surprised Uni allowed her to do that." He paused to consider this. "Oh, well of course she'd be able to ride on Uni."

Blast. He hoped that comment went right past Switzerland. Divested of guns or not, it could be dangerous.

But Switzerland simply stood staring out the window until Liechtenstein dismounted safely and came back in the house.

England was surprised to see that it was nearly six o'clock already. When Liechtenstein came back into the room, cheeks reddened with cold, he stood to take his leave. "I hope you have had an enjoyable day," he offered politely.

"Oh, yes, England. A beautiful day! Thank you so much," she effused, rising to press a kiss to his cheek. It startled him, but he accepted it like a gentleman, in the spirit in which it was intended. "I just wish it didn't have to end so soon."

"I'm sure England has prior commitments," Switzerland put in.

"We don't mind staying," Flying Mint Bunny offered.

"Can you get home by yourselves?" Liechtenstein wondered.

"Of course! We're magic, remember?"

This made the girl laugh again. "Then please stay!" She led the magic friends from the room again after a quick smile to her brother and his guest.

"Switzerland, thank you for your hospitality."

"You're welcome. Thank you again for your assistance with this – project. I haven't seen Liechtenstein so excited for a long time."

"Please remember our confidentiality agreement."

"Of course. I'll bring it to my sister's attention as soon as she tells me your friends have departed."

"You might wish to leave the guns on the table until she tells you that. I noticed how tense you are when they are interacting."

"Thank you for your concern." They shook hands.

…

After leaving Switzerland's cold home England headed straight for Romano's place, a gift bottle of Chasselas wine in hand. Maybe they could cook a cheese fondue tonight? He turned the corner onto Romano's street and was surprised to see his friend burst out the front gate of his home. England watched as he stomped off down the street in the opposite direction.

Well, this was bizarre. He decided to follow and surprise him. England went into James Bond mode, stealthily tailing Romano into the city. He watched him pace around a decorative fountain a few times and then sit on its edge.

What the hell was going on? Romano knew he'd be coming over, right? Why would he be outside, killing time on the edge of a public fountain? England had a brief moment of worry that perhaps Romano was meeting someone else. From the expression of anger that he could see, Romano was not at all happy. If it was Spain –

England sat on the edge of the fountain to wait a few minutes. When no one approached Romano, he decided to speed things up a bit. He circled around to the back of the fountain and took his cell phone out of his pocket, powering it back on. Hmm, several missed calls, all from Romano. "Excuse me," he said quietly to a passerby. "Could you take a photo of me in front of the fountain? And make sure that guy appears in the background?"

The passerby snapped the picture and wandered off after thanks from the Brit. England sent the picture off to Romano's cell phone with the subject "Guess where I am" and sat on the fountain's edge, watching him from behind.

He heard the cell phone beep; they were only about twenty feet apart at this point. Watched Romano pull the phone eagerly from his pocket, check the email, cant his head to the side while he considered the picture. Then Romano stood up, turned around, and caught his eye. His expression shot from angry to relieved in a very short matter of time, and he ran around the fountain and grabbed England in a tight, fierce embrace.

_"_What's wrong?" England stroked Romano's hair, holding him with his other arm.

"You, you complete bastard," Romano choked out. Then he seemed to recollect he was hugging England in public, so he drew back quickly.

"What? I haven't even talked to you today."

"That's the problem, dammit! I've been calling you all day and you haven't answered! I thought maybe Swissy got mad and, and hurt you, or something." Romano looked shyly down at his feet.

"Settle down, all right? Switzerland was quite happy with how the day went, and I'm not hurt, and I ran down here as soon as I could, because I wanted to be with you. Why did you think I wouldn't?"

"You didn't answer my calls."

"Because I was a guest in someone's home! I apologize for not turning the phone on after I left his house, but I was in such a hurry to see you that I forgot."

Romano finally looked him in the eye, with the beginnings of relief. "So we're good?"

"Yes, we're fine!" He hugged his friend tightly.

Romano blushed and hunched his shoulders up. "Dammit, bastard, not in public," but he got a little smirk on his face and pecked a quick kiss onto England's cheek. "Let's go home."

…

_Unicorn lore says that only a virgin can tame a unicorn._

_Also, I have no idea what property values in Interlaken really are, these days. I looked on Sotheby's Realty and found a lot of things, none in Interlaken and none as richly-appointed as the fictional Swissy chalet, and they were all in the $6-million-and-up range, so I arbitrarily picked 8 million Euros._


	17. Coffee

_This was the original beginning of the story called "Food for Thought." I was going to leave it out of the redo, but it's sort of Skirmish-y, so it might appeal to some of you._

…

**Coffee.**

Prussia and Romano are wandering around Berlin together.

How did this come to happen, you may ask? Romano can usually only tolerate Prussia when Denmark is with them to act as a buffer. Prussia, of course, will hang out with anyone who would listen to the musings of his awesome self. Denmark – and England – are nowhere to be seen.

But the day is beautiful, a fresh spring day, and Prussia is not acting too obnoxious. Yet. While they stop for coffee and cake, let's look back.


	18. Spaghetti Sauce

**Spaghetti Sauce.**

"You know there's a world meeting coming up. Want to go?"

"Cheh, what on earth for? I never go to those things. Veneziano takes care of it for us." Romano tried to hold the phone between his ear and shoulder while he stirred a pan of sauce. His idiot little brother was coming over for dinner, and he wanted to get this sauce right – but he didn't want to hang up on his friend, either.

England tapped the phone randomly. "I know. I remember you came to the very first one, and never after that."

He remembered? Romano was touched. That had been long before they'd gotten together.

"But this one's in America. And I really hate going to America, because of all the memories. It angers me to think about losing to that wanker."

This made Romano chuckle. "I see your point, but still don't see why you want me along. I can't do anything about him."

"I know that." England sighed. "But it's a five-day meeting. I just thought that if you were there, I'd be able to stay calm, and you'd distract me from the bad memories."

"Five days, bastard? Dammit, that's insane. I can't even take one day of those meetings."

"Well, you don't actually have to go to the meetings. You could hang out while I'm in the meetings, and then we could do touristy things or whatever afterwards."

"That's almost worse! Hanging around a hotel room for five days." He added some oregano to the sauce; intent on stirring, tasting, he didn't realize how silent England had gone.

"Right," the island nation finally said. "I guess you're right. I wouldn't want to go, either, if I didn't have to."

"Damn right. Now listen, I have to hang up, my sauce is almost done. I'll talk to you later, OK?"

"Sure. Have a good dinner. Say hi to Veneziano for me."


	19. Cake

**Cake.**

And so, since both Denmark and England had left for America, Prussia and Romano found themselves at a loose end, and decided to spend some time together. Today was day two of the world meeting. Not that Romano was counting.

He found himself surprisingly dejected. He'd only spoken to England once since that phone call, and it hadn't been good. His boyfriend had been distracted and somewhat curt. Romano hadn't pushed it, though, assuming it was simply meeting-related stress.

"This is pretty good, for potato bastard cake," he said idly.

Prussia gave him a smug look. "Being with Iggy must be softening you up. That's cool." He took a sip of coffee and sighed.

"You're an idiot."

Prussia just laughed.

Because Romano had his mind on England, his thoughts wandered to Denmark. Apparently he and Prussia were very happy together. He couldn't see it…couldn't see how anyone could put up with Prussia as a boyfriend_._ But there was someone for everyone in this marvelous world, and he was just thankful that the albino hadn't latched onto England at some point…or worse yet, tried to latch onto him.

"Why aren't you at the world meeting?" he asked.

Prussia shrugged. "What would I do there? I have no status, so, no valid input."

"Thought maybe you'd like to see Washington. Hang out with Denmark, do touristy things. Date things."

Prussia looked at him with wide eyes. "I would have loved to hang out with Den and do touristy things, but…he didn't ask the awesome me." He fiddled with his spoon while Romano digested this information. "Did…did Iggy ask you?"

"Yeah, he did, but, dammit, five days of those stupid meetings?"

"But so what?" Prussia started to get agitated; Romano started to get nervous. Well, at least they were seated outside. They probably wouldn't get kicked out of _this_ coffee shop.

"What do you mean, 'so what'?"

"You could have found something else to do."

"For five fucking days?"

"Damn." The albino subsided into his chair. "I never knew you were so selfish. Poor Iggy."

"What are you talking about?" Romano asked irritably, but he was beginning to understand.

"Look, you know how conflicted he is about America. I mean, you do know, don't you? Even you can't be that obtuse. He's got to spend a whole week over there looking at all those monuments and shit, with his memories, and listening to America run off at the mouth, and deal with the boring meetings, too. And then his only choices for winding down will be either going to bars or hanging out alone, because his boyfriend wouldn't make a little personal sacrifice to help him out. You're brutal!"

Romano tried to shrug it off. "He'll probably hang out with Denmark, right? Just like you and I are hanging out today."

"Oh, Romano, you don't have a clue, do you?"

"Shut up, albino potato." Romano finished his coffee in silence.


	20. Tea

**Tea.**

England had been depressed long before he'd even left for America, but he hadn't wanted to risk a fight with Romano right before his departure, so he'd put it on the back burner, intending to deal with it later. Perhaps Romano was tiring of him. He thought back over their recent interactions and wondered whether that could possibly be true. It could be, but…it didn't seem like it.

He really cared for the fiery Italian, loved the energy and venom he brought into England's cold, isolated life. But by now he was feeling uncertain about whether Romano still wanted him. Surely he would have made the effort to come, after England had explained his apprehensions? He could easily ask Veneziano for information, but didn't want to get into the personal stuff with a third party, not when all the other nations were around. And what if Veneziano confirmed that his brother was losing interest? Bloody hell.

The second day of meetings was going by much the same as the first, tedious and pointless. Sometimes he sympathized with Germany a great deal. If the other nations could only focus better, a five-day summit could be completed in three days, or maybe even two. Some things had been satisfactorily accomplished, but not enough.

He sighed and pushed his hand through his hair, thinking back over the first day of meetings. Intensely annoying, that's about all you could say for them. America had not only been his loud, 'heroic' self, but because he was the meeting host, he'd been even more over the top, going off on insane tangents left and right. It didn't help that England had been seated between Greece – the man's yawns kept threatening to send him to sleep as well – and Switzerland. Anyone would be wary of sitting next to Switzerland! All the free tea he could drink wasn't helping (and the stuff America served was garbage out of cheap tea bags, anyway). England had swung between poles of boredom and irritation until he'd finally exploded in disgust, pounding his fist on the table and awakening Greece with a start.

"Iggy, calm _down,_" America had drawled, but the other nations had seemed so relieved at the interruption that the meeting had been adjourned for that day.

England had managed to avoid going out and getting drunk at the first day's after-meeting party, but he could feel his resolve beginning to crumble. He knew that it wouldn't solve anything, and he'd feel like hell the next day, but his boredom, irritation, and worry about Romano were making him crave company and possibly also massive amounts of liquor. He decided that he just might go along tonight – _if_ anyone asked him to.

What timing. "Lucky you! You get to come out drinking with me and my Nordic friends!" Denmark sneaked up behind him and slipped an arm around his shoulders. It was the lunch break on the second day, and England felt a little flutter of relief that someone had remembered him. He'd spent the evenings since Saturday in his hotel room, not trusting himself to wander America's capital, with its memories and associations, alone.

"Yes, all right," he responded cheerfully. "I could use a drink."

"_A_ drink?" Denmark asked. "You'd better be prepared to drink more than one!"

England laughed. "Believe me, Den, that's starting to sound like a bloody good idea. Let's go."


	21. Wine

**Wine.**

Romano had not been entirely in denial since his talk with Prussia that afternoon. But what could he do about it now? Over a glass of wine, he tried phoning England's cell, but got no response. Maybe the island nation didn't turn it on when overseas? Maybe – maybe he was so pissed off that he wouldn't answer? Dammit, he wished he'd talked to England about this before the meeting. Well, he could talk to him when he got back, right?

But as the day went on, the thoughts began to intrude more and more strongly, until that night Romano found himself unable to sleep. _It's just a fucking meeting,_ he told himself, but his conscience warned him that he was going to have to face facts sooner rather than later. He forced the pillow over his head angrily and tried to get back to sleep.


	22. Peanuts

**Peanuts.**

The after-meeting party was in full swing. Denmark and Norway had managed to snag a large table in the corner of the bar, where the five Nordics and England were happily trying all sorts of drink combinations. Iceland wasn't actually drinking, just looking around the rest of the room, but the rest of the nations at the table were perfectly happy to do so.

England was trying to restrain himself from overindulgence. He felt a little tipsy, but nothing to worry about, not if he stopped right now. Denmark was going to be far worse off than he. The two of them were huddled into the corner of the table, talking in low tones.

"Wish Prussia was here," Den hiccupped. "We could go sing." He sipped his drink.

"Don't feel like singing."

"Why not?"

"Romano's an arse," England blurted out. He was startled when Denmark started laughing very loudly. "What? What the hell are you laughing at, git?"

"He's always an 'arse'! Didn't you ever realize that?" Den continued to hoot long howls of laughter.

"Shut it." England pelted him with a peanut, which only made the Dane laugh more. "Anyway, why isn't Prussia here? Didn't he want to bother, either?"

"Prussia doesn't come to world meetings. He has no reason to, since he's only an ex-nation."

"Didn't you invite him?"

"Huh? What for?"

"You wanker. So he could spend time with you! So you could spend time with him! So he wouldn't be so lonely…I bet _he_ would have agreed to come," he finished, weakly.

"Romano wouldn't come to the meeting with you!" Denmark downed the rest of his drink and motioned to the waitress for another one.

England didn't answer, but got more and more morose, ignoring Denmark's pokes and jibes, watching the crowd, sliding further into depression. He finished his own drink, and when it didn't seem to help, he decided to leave.

By this point Denmark had apparently gone off into some kind of la-la land of his own, head on the table. "Are you going to be all right, git?"

"D'nt w'ry b't 'm, w'll m'k s're h'gets b'ck t' his r'm."

"Thanks. His room's right next to mine, but I can't carry him, he's too damn big. I'll see you guys tomorrow." He walked out of the bar and went back to his hotel room, sadly thinking about Romano. Could he call him? Maybe they could talk? Hotel phone rates were freakishly expensive, though, and he'd stupidly left his cell phone on the charger, in his townhouse. Anyway, it was still the middle of the night in Italy. Bollocks. Well, maybe he'd call him tomorrow. Probably not such a good idea to call when he'd been drinking.

…

_Sweden is very hard to write dialogue for, dammit._


	23. Hot Dogs

**Hot Dogs.**

Day three dawned in Europe. Romano felt like he hadn't slept at all. When the phone rang at six, he jumped at it, hoping to hear from England, but instead, his ear was filled with a loud "Kesesese!"

"Yeah, what, bastard?" he growled.

"Got a great idea, Romanooo~," the albino sang out. "I'm so awesomely brilliant!"

"It had better be good, you idiot, you woke me up."

"Oh, it's a good one, babe. Let's go to America."

"_What_?" Romano was fully awake now.

"Yeah, brilliant, huh? Let's go to Washington and surprise England and Den! Come on, there's still three days left until they get home, nothing to do, you need to make it up to Iggy, come on, come _on. _We can eat hot dogs, yeah!_"_

Fucking American wurst. Of course Prussia would focus on that. "Let me think about this. I'll call you back."

"Okay, but don't wait too long! We can get a flight out of Frankfurt at one and be there before midnight local time."

"Augh, shut up and let me call you back!" He hung up on the infuriating (but just possibly very helpful) albino and lay back on the bed to think.

Hell, he didn't need to think about it. Romano knew that the sooner he cleared the air with England, the sooner he'd be able to relax again.

"Yeah, bastard, let's do it. Meet you at the airport at eleven?"

"Yeah, awesome, Romano, I knew you'd say yes. Uh…can I borrow some money?"


	24. Stale Coffee

**Stale Coffee.**

Third day of meetings, same as the other two. A huge snoozefest. At one point England actually put his head down on the table and tried to sleep, but he was uncomfortably aware of the proximity of the gun in Switzerland's thigh holster, so he couldn't relax.

Denmark hadn't even shown up until lunchtime, and even then, he looked really miserable. Norway had explained that after England's departure, Den had continued to drink, moaning about missing some wino, until he'd slumped on the table, passed out. Sweden had indeed had to help him back to his room.

During the afternoon break England went to talk to Denmark. "Hey, are you all right? You were pretty soused last night, from what I hear."

Denmark, with his head on the table, groaned. "Yeah, I'll be all right. I'm just miserable, that's all."

"Miserable how?" England pulled out the neighboring chair and sat down. "I mean, physically or mentally?"

"Both," the spiky-haired man groaned. "Either. Physically, mentally, romantically…"

"Hey, don't worry about it. You'll be all right. Prussia's probably having a good time cooking up some fun plan for you when you get back."

"Argh."

"Have some more coffee. I know American coffee is shite, but it's better than nothing. Want me to get you a cup?"

"Yeah, thanks."

England filled two cups with stale, lukewarm coffee and returned to where Denmark was attempting to wake up. "Here."

Denmark took the cup and chugged it down. "Thanks. I needed that."

"Don't worry about Prussia." England ruffled Denmark's hair gently, so as not to exacerbate his hangover. "He'll be all right. He probably hasn't even thought about you inviting him."

"How could I have been so stupid, though? I mean, it didn't even occur to me to ask him!"

"Yeah, well, that's not always a guarantee of success."

"What? Oh, right! You asked Romano to come? Why isn't he here?"

"Meetings too bloody boring, not interested, couldn't stand the idea, _not fucking interested_," England spat.

"You're kidding." This admission made Denmark sit straight up. "Ow." He clutched his head.

"No." The shorter nation put his head in his hands.

"Wow, that's pretty damn harsh. He actually said that?"

"He actually said that."

"Damn."

A moment while the two friends marinated in their own misery and bad coffee.

"All right, everybody, time to get back to the meeting!" America's voice rang through the halls. "Come on, people, let's get today wrapped up!"

People began filtering back into the room. England went back to the neutral zone between Greece and Switzerland, sunk in a pool of self-pity. Bleah.


	25. Beer

**Beer.**

"I'm going out drinking again," Denmark announced after the meeting broke up.

"You're bloody insane! You're not even over yesterday's hangover yet!"

"Hair of the dog, all that stuff. Come on, let's go drown our sorrows."

"Den, that's never a good idea. Besides, if you go through the rest of the week drunk or hung over –" England let the suggestion hang in the air, hoping his friend would see reason.

"Forget it. I want to drink. I tried calling Prussia today and he wasn't home. I tried six times, and he didn't answer!"

"Did you try his cell?" Damn, that reminded England about his own cell phone, sitting in his kitchen. What an arse he was sometimes.

"He doesn't have one. Germany won't let him. Afraid he'll spend too much money, or spend time downloading porn."

"Wankers. Like Germany's one to talk. Do you have your cell? I left mine at home by accident."

Denmark pulled out his phone and handed it to England. "Gonna call Romano?"

England considered. "Well…we, er, we probably have a lot to talk about. I don't necessarily want to start that conversation right now. Never mind, put the phone away. Let's go get discreetly drunk."


	26. Chocolate

**Chocolate.**

"You fucking albino moron. Now what? How are we supposed to get into their hotel rooms? Why didn't we think of this sooner?"

Prussia frowned. "I'll just tell the concierge that we're joining them. It'll be fine!"

"Yeah, like that's going to work. What an idiot." Romano scowled back at him.

Prussia walked over and spoke to the slight young woman behind the desk, smiling at her seductively. Romano continued to scowl at him. Then the concierge handed Prussia two room keys and a small box of gift chocolates.

Dammit. He'd never hear the end of this one.

"Do I hear the word 'awesome' approaching your lips?" Prussia asked archly, swaggering back to him, brandishing the chocolate box.

"_Chigi!_ No. I don't – you – nh. Yeah, all right, that was pretty awesome. All right?" Romano watched Prussia's face glow into incandescence. "Just – just don't keep going on about it. What rooms are they in?"

"Right next to each other!" Prussia handed him a key and they went up in the elevator together.

…

_Prussia trumps everyone. _


	27. Pretzels

**Pretzels.**

Denmark relaxed with his head against the wall of the bar. England was in marginally better condition, the key word being 'marginally.' Things had started out all right; they'd eaten some pretzels, sung a few songs while seated at the table, and then quickly gotten maudlin. England had burst into tears, head cradled in his arms on the table; Den stroked his hair for a few seconds before starting to cry himself. All the Nordics had moved away, deeply embarrassed, although Sweden did appear to be keeping an eye on them as they slumped into each other. The crying jags had ended, and they'd stopped drinking, but both of them seemed happier just sitting morosely at the table, crushing pretzels into crumbs, than leaving the bar.

"Hey, Iggy, you ought to go to bed, you look terrible, and you're going to be in crap condition for the meeting tomorrow!"

Ugh. How could America be so damn perky? "Sod off, wanker," he grunted out.

"Ah, no way, man! I'm the hero, so I'm going to make sure you get to your room safely!" America struck a heroic pose before sliding his arm around England and pulling him out of the chair. "Hey, _Sweden_!" he yelled. "Will you be able to deal with Denmark? I'll get Iggy back to his room." Sweden merely nodded. "Cool, see ya tomorrow!"

As the two of them left the bar, someone pushed rudely past them to go in. They'd only gotten a few steps before they heard a loud, drunken, happy yell from Denmark. England turned to look and – bloody hell, there was Prussia on Denmark's lap, kissing him and running his hands through his hair. The other Nordics were all frozen in shock, as was America. Denmark just kept laughing and laughing.

"Hey, Iggy!" Prussia called out behind him. "Nice to _see you_~, kesesese!"

Could this day get any worse? The island nation just nodded weakly, waving, and followed America out of the bar. Depression was settling in again. Of course Prussia would be bold enough to fly over to Washington, even though he'd not been invited. Well, he was happy for Den, anyway. Bloody hell.

And he did not want to deal with America. It was fairly late – nearly two – and the hotel was deserted. America reached down and plucked England's key out of his back pocket to check the room number. "Hey, hey, hey, get your bloody hands off my arse," the Brit protested.

"Haha, Iggy, don't worry. Just getting your room key. Let's go. I'll make sure you get to bed safely."

"I hate you, you tosser. I'm fine."

"Haha, sure ya are." America followed England into the elevator and up to his room, opening the door. The room was dark. He pushed the island nation inside and flung him onto the bed without turning on the lights. "There ya go, dude," he said breezily, throwing the key card onto the drunken man's frame. "Hey, Iggy, why are you so drunk tonight, anyway? You and Denmark have been drinking a lot this week."

He didn't want to talk about this with America. "Just – just get out, git."

America stood there looking down at him. "Come on, tell me."

A weak "wanker" floated up from the depths of the mattress.

"Whatever. Hey, wash up and get to bed, all right? I won't expect you at the morning session." America laughed raucously. "Dude, you're going to be way miserable tomorrow!" He left, still cackling, closing the door behind him.

"I'm way miserable now, you stupid, stupid…" England rolled over until he was looking up at the ceiling. Damn America. Well, he'd better make an effort, here. He took off his shoes and jacket and rolled back onto the bed. "Bloody Romano. Why the hell didn't he come with me?" he cursed. After another minute he got up and stumbled into the bathroom.

When he came back out, clad in just his boxers, he stood looking at the bed. The curtains were open and a little city light and moonlight trickled in. The bed was rumpled and looked inviting. He crossed over to it and slid between the sheets, lying face down with his head in his arms. "Bloody hell."

…


	28. Hamburgers

**Hamburgers.**

Romano, in t-shirt and sweat pants, had startled out of a nap when he heard the door opening. From his chair in a darkened corner, he'd watched, alarmed, as America, silhouetted by the hallway lights, pushed an apparently drunken England into the room. Dammit, he suddenly realized, this was a _colossally_ bad idea. He waited, frozen in fear, for something uncomfortable to start. America threw England onto the bed, and Romano closed his eyes so he wouldn't need to see them kissing – or, or anything else. Just – just – dammit, no…please, no.

And then England had told the meeting host to get out.

So there was hope, unless he was too drunk to fight off America's advances. But Romano would help with that, if he could. He hoped it wouldn't come to that; the hamburger bastard was huge. He felt very angry that someone would bring a drunken nation – any nation, not just England – to a room to take advantage. That's the kind of stupid thing stupid France would do – or, or –

But to Romano's amazement, America had simply made a couple of rude comments and left, laughing. The Italian watched England with pounding heart, wondering how to approach him, watched him take off his shoes, grumble about an absent Romano – yeah, that hurt, that hurt a lot, that England was so distressed about him. Dammit, he was a world-class bastard, to have treated his friend this way.

While England was in the bathroom, Romano slid under the covers, hoping he could make this all better, wondering where to start.

The blond came out of the bathroom and slid between the sheets. Romano's heart ached as he watched England turn and put his face down on the mattress. He reached out a hand to stroke the blond hair –

– and then froze as he heard a loud 'kesesese' from the other side of the wall. "Chigi!" he yelled, and punched the wall reflexively.

"Gah!" England flipped over on the bed with his eyes wide and misjudged, falling off the bed. "Ow, ow – what? Bollocks, today's the worst bloody day in my entire existence, bar absolutely none. Ow."

Romano crawled over the bed and peered down onto the floor. "You – you all right, bas–England?" he asked with a catch in his voice.

England's confused face was staring up at him in the weak light. "Romano? Am I dreaming? Ow. Oh, I'm probably just drunk. Oh..." He raised a hand to the back of his head gingerly. The Italian shook his head and reached out a hand to help the blond up. England took it. "What are you doing here?"

"Come up on the bed; let me explain."

He got slowly back onto the bed, sitting up; Romano moved closer to sit next to him.

"Whoa, America was right. You smell like a fucking brewery."

"That's not helping." The blond lashed out with a weak punch, but didn't hurt Romano much. England put his head in his hands. Romano put his warm arms around him, stroking his hair, calming him down.

"You're absolutely right, England. I'm a – a monumental b-bastard." England cut his eyes to Romano without speaking. "Listen, I…I'm really sorry. I was, well, I was pretty selfish, and didn't think about how you would feel being alone here, in this place that hurts you so much. I hate to admit, it took the albino potato to make me see how much I hurt you. I would never hurt you on purpose, but I'm so cold sometimes." He swiped at his eyes with the back of a hand. Dammit, he would not cry.

England looked up. "Prussia said something that made sense to you?" He snorted through his tears. "The world is coming to an end."

"Ah, don't, don't, dammit, just – just let me hold you? Come on, please?" The island nation didn't answer, but didn't push him away.

After about a minute, Romano felt England relax into his embrace, resting his head on his shoulder. The brunet pressed a kiss to the messy hair and heard England sigh.

"Will you forgive me, bastard?" he murmured softly into the island nation's hair.

England sat still for a while, not responding – long enough that Romano began to worry. Then he just nodded and slipped an arm around Romano's waist. For a long time the only sounds were England's deep breathing, subsiding to normal, and the sound of their hearts beating together. Then England turned his face to Romano and gently kissed him.

"Thank you for being brave enough to come after me."

"Thank you for being strong enough to forgive me. Now we can be strong together."


	29. Espresso

**Espresso.**

In the morning light from the window, England awoke to the beautiful sight of a sleeping, relaxed Romano. He leaned over to check the time – still early yet! Not even eight! – and then leaned forward to kiss his friend's forehead.

He awoke with a sweet, soft smile on his face, blinked, and then reached out for England. They lay together, holding each other, feeling a deep peace and contentment for a few minutes. "Hey, bastard," England joked quietly.

Romano raised an eyebrow, but smiled.

"Do you want to get room service and have breakfast in bed?"

"What about your stup—your meeting? Doesn't it start soon?"

"America said he'd let me off the hook for the morning session. Come on – espresso and croissants, and strawberries, and whipped cream?" He got a pleading little look on his face.

"You had me at espresso," Romano laughed, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then stroked his fingers up and down England's bare chest. "But the whipped cream sounds pretty good, too."


	30. Pastaaa!

**Pastaaaa!**

"Well, that was fun," Romano laughed, a few hours later. "Do you want to order lunch from room service, too? Do you have time before you have to go back to the meeting?"

"Might as well. I'm sure the morning session is over by now; I hope America remembered to have someone take notes for me."

He picked up the phone and ordered their lunch of pasta and salad. Hanging up, he turned towards the bathroom. "I'm going to shower. Just let them in when they get here."

...

Someone was knocking on the door. Room service already? Romano, clad only in his sweatpants, crossed to the door, opening it.

"Ve~?"

"_Chigi!"_

Slam.

…

_Couldn't resist; it seemed like America would give Veneziano a stupid job like ferrying notes up to England's room. _


	31. Salad

**Salad.**

"Sorry, I shouldn't have done that, but you startled me," Romano explained, opening the hotel room door again. Veneziano peered into the room.

"Ve, it really is you, Romano! What are you doing here? I didn't know you were attending the meeting! I was looking for England's room, but I guess I got the wrong room."

"You got the right room. Come in."

"But –"

"Just come in!"

So Veneziano came in.

The brothers sat at the table and looked at each other. "So, you're in England's room – and you're not wearing a shirt," the younger grinned, raising his eyebrows. "Is there something you want to share with me, fratello?"

"Dammit, no, I…well, yeah…you should probably know..." Romano pushed his hands into his hair, resting his elbows on the table. "England and I have been dating for a while."

"Ve, that's great! How long is a while?"

"Hm, let me see, four months, more or less. Since the fall."

"Four months? Why have you been keeping it such a secret?"

"Why should we blab it to the world? But, you know, I've been meaning to tell you. Sorry."

"That's all right, Romano. I'm so happy for you both. And you came to the meeting to be with him? Why haven't I seen you around, though? The meeting's been going on for four days! Plus the weekend before."

The meeting was still a bit of a sore spot with Romano, so he avoided answering. Luckily for him, just then room service arrived with the lunch.

"Ve, I should leave you to your lunch. Where is England, anyway?"

"He went in to take a shower. I don't know what's taking him so long."

"Well, here are his notes from this morning! Germany took them, so they will be very good notes. Will you come to the meeting this afternoon?"

"Cheh, maybe, I don't know yet. I'll talk to you later."

"Ciao, fratello! Me and Germany are in room 413 if you need us!"

"Yeah, thanks."

After Veneziano had left the room, England slowly peeked around the edge of the bathroom door. Romano looked up at him irritably. "Are you ever coming out of there? The lunch is getting cold."

"Give me a break. I didn't have any clothes in there, and I didn't want to come out and have to talk to your brother in nothing but a towel. All right?"

"Yeah, whatever. Get dressed and let's eat."


	32. Cheese and Crackers

**Cheese and Crackers.**

Germany had been racking his brains for weeks about a surprise party for Veneziano's birthday. The problem was that he knew he'd have to include Romano in the plans, too. This made all planning quite difficult. He wanted something special, not just a dinner at home, but the idea of persuading Romano to agree to dinner at a German restaurant was almost physically painful. And he wasn't conversant enough with Italian restaurants, yet, to be sure of making a right choice.

Perhaps he could rope in another nation to assist him in planning a function? It would have to be someone who could keep his mouth shut. Switzerland? Well, he certainly fell into that category, but with Switzerland helping, the party would become nothing more than cheese and crackers in Germany's living room. Switzerland was not an option.

Certainly Prussia was out of the question. He would want to have the party at a beer hall and hire strippers and have darts competitions. Neither of the Italies would have fun at a Prussia-style party.

America was well-known for parties, but American parties were almost as insane as Prussia-style parties. And since he wasn't based in Europe, it would be difficult to coordinate things.

Austria, Poland…no, definitely not Poland…Spain? No, not if Romano would be attending. France? Well, that was a possibility. He might try to overwhelm the proceedings too much, but he did seem like an able party planner. Germany decided to talk to France once this Washington meeting was over and everyone was back home.

…

There was no real party planned after that day's meeting. Germany and Veneziano had a peaceful dinner at the Kennedy Center's rooftop restaurant, after which they strolled on the roof and looked at the stars for a while. Germany was always so intrigued by the romantic ideas that Veneziano had.

"Ve, I found out something interesting today! Do you remember the day we went to breakfast at Romano's house, and England was there?" Veneziano turned his face to Germany's in the moonlight.

"Yes. England had just gotten into a fight with Spain…h-he and your brother were embracing, when I went back in for my cap."

"That's just it! They're dating! They've been dating since before that night, but fratello would never tell me because he was too shy about it."

"How did you find out?"

"America sent me upstairs to England's room with your extra meeting notes, remember? Romano was there and we talked about it." Veneziano cuddled Germany's arm. "Ve, I hope things work out well for them. I really want my brother to be happy like we are."

Germany leaned down and placed a quick peck precisely in the center of Veneziano's forehead. "That would be very nice for him." Perfect. England is dating Romano; England can help plan the party.

…

"I don't mind a bit, old chap. Do you want it to be a surprise party?"

"Indeed. I have a few ideas but am somewhat stuck on the details. Perhaps we could meet and make some plans?"

"Righto. I'm free on Monday. We should probably meet somewhere that neither Romano nor his brother will stumble across us by accident – how about Berlin?"

"That sounds good. Shall I meet you in front of the Gedächtniskirche on Monday at noon?"

"I'll be there. And Germany – thank you for asking me to help. I'm looking forward to planning a great party for them!"

…

_Poor England will never find out he was Germany's last choice for party planning assistance._


	33. Dinner

**Dinner.**

"Hey, bastard, what are you doing next weekend?"

"I'm free all next weekend, but I'm busy on the 17th and 25th. We should start schedule-sharing so we don't have to go through this all the time." Of course, if they shared schedules, England would have to make up some fake appointments for the 17th.

"Dammit, you know the—" Romano interrupted himself.

"What? I didn't catch that."

"Ah, nothing. Listen, why don't you come down this Saturday and plan to stay over? There's an Italian Classics film festival in Rome both days."

"Sure, that sounds good. Then we can walk around and see how the pigeons behave around you, too."

"Cheh. You and your mystic birds."

England laughed. "You'll see I'm right. Listen, I have to go, I'll see you on Saturday."

"Bye, bastard."

…

It was a surprising amount of fun to plan the party with Germany. He was efficient and to the point, which England had expected, and within an hour they'd hammered out the details. Germany would be making the local arrangements – they'd chosen to host it at a restaurant here in Berlin, as a central location for most of the guests – and England would handle the guest list and invitations, along with the delicate wording thereof. Germany also agreed to a secret scheme England had in mind to surprise Romano. They parted after a pleasant lunch on the Ku'Damm and promised to keep in touch.

…

"Hey, Veneziano, I hear West is taking you out to dinner in Berlin for your birthday! That's great."

"Yes, I'm very excited about it! I'm trying to get Romano to agree to go with us, but he's being pouty."

"You should definitely make him go." Prussia raised his eyebrows suggestively. "It's a fabulous restaurant."

…

"_Cher_ Veneziano, I hear you and Romano are going out to dinner in Berlin for your birthday! That's so nice of Germany."

"Ve, I know, I like going out to dinner with Germany."

"Make sure you and your brother dress nicely! It's an elegant place, they tell me."

…

"Italy. Is it true that Germany is planning a nice dinner for your birthday, in Berlin, for you and Romano?"

"Hello, Austria! Yes, it's true. Romano and I are really looking forward to it." This was a bit of a stretch. Romano had only grudgingly agreed to go, and Veneziano still wasn't sure he could manage to drag his brother along when the time came.

"I am sure you will have a good time. That restaurant has a wonderful musical ensemble. There may even be dancing."

…

All these not-very-well-concealed hints from well-meaning friends did not entirely pass over Veneziano's head.

"Come on, Romano, it's time to get ready for the p—dinner."

"Dammit, I don't even know why I'm going to this stupid dinner."

"Because it's our birthday! Because Germany's really nice and wants us to have a good time. Now come on, dress up nice, and we can go."

Romano grumbled, but did as he was told. Dammit_. _England was going to pay for this. But for his brother's sake, he dressed quite nicely, and tried to keep his irritation to himself. This was going to be the worst birthday ever.


	34. Champagne

**Champagne.**

The restaurant was indeed quite classy, Romano was pleased to see. There weren't many diners there yet. They were led to a table at the edge of the dance floor, almost in the center of the restaurant, under the dimmed chandelier. Romano had his back to the stage, opposite Veneziano. A string quartet played soft music as they were seated.

"Ve, will there be dancing? I would love to dance with you, Germany."

"Ahem. Yes, I have been assured that there will be dancing tonight."

"And you, fratello, will you please stop scowling? It's our birthday_._ Try to relax and enjoy it."

"Cheh." Romano simply fiddled with his cutlery, staring down at the table. Yes, he'd sit through this meal, to make his little brother happy, but he was inwardly fuming at England. He spent a few moments trying to devise a suitable punishment for the island nation, but no ideas were forthcoming.

A waiter came and took their order. The Italy brothers were intent enough on the menus that they did not see Switzerland, Austria, Hungary and Liechtenstein enter and be seated at a table in the corner. By the time they did look up, that party had all buried their faces in their own menus. They passed unnoticed by the Italies.

The entrance of Poland and Lithuania was more conspicuous, however, since Poland was wearing a pink silk dress with sequins on it. "Ve, isn't that Poland and Lithuania?"

"It appears so. I know this restaurant is quite popular with many of our fellow nations."

Romano rolled his eyes. Wonderful. Not only a birthday without his boyfriend, with the potato bastard, in a German restaurant, but now these two? England was a fucking heartless bastard. Romano began to wonder whether the blond was only doing this to pay him back for the business about the meeting in Washington.

The waiter returned with their drinks, and so they did not see America and Canada enter the restaurant and be led to a table near the Switzerland party. A few minutes later, France entered and sat with the two of them.

Veneziano and Germany continued to try to draw Romano out of himself, conversationally, but he was determined to be irritable.

"Just let me sit here and stew," he grumbled, staring at the tablecloth. "You two have a good time. The potato bastard dragged you all the way here, you should enjoy it."

"But you should enjoy it too, fratello! It's apparently a very good restaurant."

Romano had found a pasta dish on the menu. He was not to know that Germany had requested special menus for the evening. When the waiter arrived, he ordered the pasta. So he missed Japan's entrance. The dark-haired man joined France, Canada and America.

After a while the restaurant was filled with the clinking of cutlery and the sounds of soft conversation. Romano was not upset about the quality of his meal. It was passable.

"Excuse me a moment," Germany said, rising and crossing to the quartet.

As he walked away, Veneziano tried one more time to placate Romano. "Fratello, please try to relax. We don't have a birthday every day, you know, and Germany did make such an effort to make us happy!"

"I know he did, but I still wish Eng—"

He was interrupted by a noise from the dais. A voluptuous blonde in a slinky sequined dress stood there, cupping the microphone, with Germany standing awkwardly next to her. He cleared his throat and the quartet struck up the dulcet tones of "Happy Birthday to You." The blonde, and Germany, and all the visiting nations, sang along, raising their glasses of champagne to the brothers Italy, one of whom was delightedly beaming, and the other who was turning bright red and hiding his face in his hands.

"Chigi! This is _so_ _stupid!"_

"Oh, Romano, calm down. It's just a song. Besides, ve, look! All our friends are here! I didn't even notice!" He turned in his seat to discover the other nations smiling and clapping for them, and waved excitedly.

"Not all of them," Romano growled. Dammit. Even Prussia and Denmark were missing. Bastards. _They _were going to pay for this, too, eventually.

Germany came back to the table and sat down. Veneziano hugged him. "Germany, this is wonderful! So many of our friends, and a nice song! You sang beautifully." Some movement on the dais caught his eye, and he began to smile in astonishment. Germany looked at him and put a finger to his lips. Romano, still bright red and staring at the table, was oblivious.

"Hey, check it, it's a rock band!" America yelled, loudly enough to drown out all the other noise in the restaurant.

"Shut it, wanker!"

Romano's head snapped up, but he didn't turn around. He froze.

"Heh…well, er…Romano, did you really think we'd ditch you on your birthday?" On stage, Denmark, Prussia and England burst into a heavy metal version of the birthday song.

Could he possibly have heard right? Slowly, he turned in his chair. Yes, indeed, there were his friends, trying not to jump too much, since it was a small stage. England was playing his Italian flag guitar and grinning widely as he sang, looking right at Romano, who frowned, trying to fight the sappy feeling that was filling his heart. Dammit! Sneaky bastard.

Frowning didn't seem to be working. He put more effort into a scowl, clenching his fists to make it hurt a little. This made both England and Prussia laugh, and then Romano gave up, sighed, and smiled wryly at them – just a little, mind you. People were watching!

When the song ended, everyone broke into applause and began milling around the room, greeting friends, congratulating the birthday boys. England and friends left the stage so the string quartet could resume and crossed to Romano at his table.

"You actually believed I would skip out on you on your birthday, git?" With a grin, England started to sit down next to him, but Romano stood up and embraced him in front of all the party guests, face aflame.

"You fucking bastard," he muttered into England's collar. The blond didn't answer, just put his arms around his friend and hugged him tightly.

It was a great birthday.

...

_This was the end of "Food for Thought." Skirmish Brothers chapters 3 and beyond all take place after this._


	35. Camping Trip

_The following chapters were from the original "Love in the Modern World," which was just a collection of random England-Romano dates._

_..._

**Camping Trip.**

Romano was not happy_._ Why had he let England drag him off on a camping trip? Dammit, he hated roughing it. Sure, the car was packed with things to make the trip more comfortable, but still…he really wasn't sure how this would go. He'd give it a shot – just once – for England's sake.

The blond drew up to a wooded area and parked. "You'll like Dartmoor. It looks pretty bleak from a distance, but up close, it's fascinating. Come on; help me get the gear out of the car."

When they stepped out of the circle of trees, the view did indeed take Romano's breath away. Rolling hills for miles, rocky outcrops; the distant landscape dotted with what must be sheep; the expansive blue sky, puffed with clouds. Cairns and trees and even some cows, way over there. Fields and farms. He could see a distant valley which maybe had a river coursing through it? England was right – this was beautiful!

"You, you – hey, bastard, this is amazing!" He dropped the sleeping bags at his feet and stared around him.

"Knew you'd like it. Hang on; I'll get the tent set up." England busied himself with making camp, occasionally smiling at his friend's nature reverie. Soon the tent was up and most of their gear was stowed inside.

"Why didn't you put the mattress in there?" Romano finally came out of his daze to ask.

"I, er," England blushed, busying himself with the food bags, "haven't you ever wanted to make love under the stars?" He didn't look at Romano. "Maybe you've done it before? I haven't, and, and I thought it would be really nice. It's going to be a nice warm night tonight. But if you don't want to, then –"

"Stop babbling." Romano closed his mouth with a kiss. "No, I never have, and yes, it sounds like a good idea. A great idea," he clarified. His friend looked up, smiling, and kissed him again.

"I'm glad you like it."

Suspicion grew in the brunet. "Is that the only reason you dragged me out here?"

"No, you git! I really love being out here, and I thought you might enjoy it too, getting away from work and the city and everything. I'm an old hand at camping, so it ought to be fine, and not stressful for you. I tried to remember to bring everything that would make it more comfortable for you."

"Cheh, well, I'm here, aren't I? Let's make the best of it." He noticed the tent was pitched. "How the hell did you do that already?"

"It's one of the modern ones. The guy who invented the bungee cord deserves to be canonized. It used to take an hour to put up a tent like this, but now I can do it all myself in a couple of minutes."

"Don't look at me. The last time I was in a tent was with Grandpa Rome!"

"Come on. Let's go for a walk." England took his hand and they wandered off onto the moor. Romano decided not to call him on the hand-holding shit, because there was nobody around, and besides, it felt kind of nice. Appropriate for this serene place.

The sunlight was warm, although the habitual winds blew. It made a pleasant contrast. They stopped to examine the birds, tiny flowers, and little streams – more like rivulets – running through the landscape. England took time to explain about the tors and the way that over time people had harvested the fieldstone to build houses and walls. The peaceful sheep in the distance surprised Romano because they ambled aimlessly around, but his friend pointed out that they were, in fact, marked, as well as kept apart by the low stone fencing.

"Wish I'd brought a sketchbook. You should have said, bastard."

"Well, we could drive down to the village later and get one? Or we can always come back some other time."

"Nh, let me think about it. Somehow going back to civilization after this seems kind of dull and routine."

"Just let me know. There's really nothing else we need from the village, so if you can live without it, we can easily just stay on the moor."

"Yeah, that's fine. Come on, show me some more." They climbed together to the top of a tor, where they looked down at the view of fields and distant towns. Romano felt quite at peace up here.

"Can we sit down? I'd like to look at this for a while. I want to keep it in my memory. I'm not even sure sketching it would have done any good…it's too, I don't know, majestic? Expansive?"

England beamed. "I knew you'd like it. Sure, come sit."

The two nations sat side-by-side on the rocky outcropping, each lost in a daydream. After a while, England put his arm around Romano's waist, and the brunet leaned his head serenely on his friend's shoulder. A few hikers wandered by at a distance and gave friendly waves, which England returned.

"Did I ever tell you how delicious you smell?"

England looked a bit surprised. "Well, you said something about it once," he finally remembered. "When we had the kissing lessons." He leaned forward to kiss him.

"You smell like this place," Romano clarified. "Like this, and the sea. When I said that, I knew it was some kind of plant or foresty thing, but this is definitely it."

"You always smell like sunshine, and tomatoes, and the harvest," his friend offered in return. "Warm and delicious."

Romano blushed and quickly changed the subject. "No wonder you like the nature shit so much, with places like this."

"You don't have to be so vulgar about it," England laughed.

"Cheh, yeah, I do, you know me."

"You're right. I do know you, git." The blond kissed his friend quickly and stood up. "Come on, it's a few miles back to the campsite, and it's going to start getting dark soon."

…

After a hasty meal in the darkening evening, England lit the big fire. "Do you like to roast marshmallows?"

"I don't know. Never tried."

"Well, let's roast some, see if you like them." The island nation showed Romano how to spear the marshmallow, how to hold it near the fire, but not too near. A few marshmallows did go up in flames, but they merely dumped them and started new ones. After a few successful ones, toasted and eaten, he looked over at England to see an intent and speculative smile on his face.

"What are you planning now, bastard?" He raised an eyebrow. His friend merely leaned forward with a warm, toasted marshmallow, and trailed it all around Romano's mouth, finally squishing it against his lips. "_Oh._" Romano licked his mouth clean of the marshmallow and retaliated.

When England closed his eyes and began to lick marshmallow off his lips, Romano brought his mouth close to assist. Oh, that sugary taste was even better when laid over the salty taste of England's lips. He finished licking the marshmallow off and looked suggestively over at the air mattress. The blond nodded, dreamy with desire, and they walked over to it hand-in-hand. Romano spared a minute to look around the area, realizing that he could not see much beyond the outlines of their own fire.

As they stripped in the moonlight, he started to worry about this, and chose to lay down on the mattress submissively for a change.

England seemed a bit taken aback, but didn't hesitate to crawl over him, kissing him, licking his neck. "Any reason you're so…accommodating tonight? It's unlike you to, to let me…" His voice drifted off.

"No – no real reason."

The island nation sat back on his haunches. "There's got to be _some_ reason, you demon. What's the matter?" He reached for the bottle of lube and poured a little bit onto his fingers.

"Uh, I, uh…"

England stopped what he was doing and looked at him in concern. "Do you not want to do this? We don't have to –?" He put the cap back on the bottle.

"No, that's not it… I do want it…I'm just, just worried about wild animals sneaking up on me. It would knock me off my stride." He looked off to the side in embarrassment.

England's peals of laughter were loud and long. "Oh, Romano!" He dropped the bottle and leaned forward to hold and kiss his friend. "You are, well, hilarious, you know that? Nobody in the world ever made me laugh like you do." He rubbed his nose back and forth on Romano's, tickling him with his messy hair like a doting parent does to a newborn.

"Chigi! What are you laughing at?"

"There are no wild animals out here, wanker. Nothing dangerous, anyway, just rabbits and birds. They won't hurt you." He stroked Romano's hair gently, trying to calm him down, occasionally still chuckling a little. "Calm down; it will be all right." Romano nodded and reached up to hold him. "Are you sure you still want to let me – er –?" He let the thought trail off, raising an eyebrow.

"Sure; it'll make a change of pace, I guess."

…

Afterwards, they dressed in sweatpants and sat near the fire again. England sat tailor-fashion, and Romano nestled in the little space between his legs, leaning back against his strong friend.

"I love to look at fire."

"So does the albino potato. He says it's mysterious."

England considered. "He's right. I used to use fire a lot in my magic – which I don't really do much of, anymore – and it was always very mesmerizing."

"You and your mystic shit."

"Don't scoff. My 'mystic shit' may save your bacon someday."

"Hm, well, maybe." He leaned back against his friend and reached a hand up to run through the fair hair. England leaned forward and kissed him under the ear. "But...yeah. Fire is mysterious and I like it too."

"I'll tell Prussia you agree with him, then. He'll like that."

"Dammit. I'll never hear the end of it."

They snuggled for a few more minutes, staring into the flames, and Romano thought he saw a bird flying through the dark on the other side of the fire. "What kinds of birds fly around at night?" he asked, pointing to where he'd seen it. "Owls?"

"Well, there are some owls around, but I think that was probably a bat."

"A bat?" Romano squeaked.

"Shh, don't – high-pitched noises attract them." England couldn't keep the laughter out of his voice, but Romano turned and buried his face against his friend's chest.

"I want to go into the tent now," he said in a tiny voice.

"Yes, all right, come on, city boy. We need to move the air mattress inside first."

When this was done, England directed Romano inside. "I've got to douse the fire. I'll be inside in a minute."

Romano stepped inside, feeling his hair for accidental bats, and when he was satisfied that he was bat-free, pulled himself into a sleeping bag. He could hear his friend moving around outside and eventually saw the firelight die down. "Hey, bastard," he called. "Where are the pillows?"

A second's pause, then: "Bollocks! I knew I forgot something. Damn, I'm sorry, Romano. Hang on a second." He came into the tent.

"Everything done out there?"

"Yes, it's all done." England zipped up the tent flap and crawled over into his own sleeping bag. "I'm really sorry about the pillows. Do you want me to make a pillow out of our spare clothes or something? I can live without one."

"No, that's all right. I'll deal with it."

"Well, then, good night." England leaned over and gave Romano a little kiss.

"Sleep well."

Ten seconds later Romano started tossing and turning.

"What's the matter, git?"

"I'm, I'm not used to being so constricted. This sleeping bag is like a mummy case. I don't have enough room to move around."

"You can unzip it, and then one side will be open."

"Cheh, yeah, but then I'll get cold, bastard."

There was a slight pause, and when England spoke next, Romano could hear the indulgent amusement in his voice. "Do you want to zip our sleeping bags together to make one big one? Would that make you more comfortable?"

Romano's face burned, but he agreed.

The island nation made short work of combining the two sleeping bags. They slipped inside and cuddled close almost reflexively. England reached out his arm and Romano gratefully rested his head on it.

"Good night, mio demone."

"Buona notte, mio angelo."

…

A few hours later they both awoke to find the air mattress had gone flat and they were resting on the hard ground. "Bloody hell."

"What time is it, bastard?"

"Maybe one? Or a little after. Hang on, I have some blankets in the car; we can put them underneath us." England stepped out to the car and returned with a few thick blankets. They readjusted their sleeping space and lay down again.

"Do you ever find it hard to sleep when you're camping?" Romano wondered.

"Not before today!" The island nation sighed. "We must have gotten a puncture in the air mattress when we moved it in here."

"Whatever, let's just go back to sleep; I'm tired."

"Right, see you in the morning."

…

The sun was up, weak; Romano stretched and slipped out of the sleeping bag gently, so as not to awaken the snoring England. The tent was big enough for him to stand up fully, so he stretched, moved to the flap, and unzipped it to get a peaceful glimpse of the moor in the morning light.

What he saw was not peaceful at all. "Chigi! Hey, bastard, sheep are eating our food!"

England had sat bolt upright at the yell. "What?"

Romano backed into the tent and zipped the flap securely. "There are some sheep out there, eating the food in those bags!"

"Bloody hell." The blond scrubbed a hand over his face. "I left the food out there? How stupid. You really are a distraction!" He got up and went out of the tent, shooing the sheep away gently. They left, but there was no food remaining that hadn't been mauled already. "Damn, now we have nothing to eat. They got into everything_._" He sat on the ground, put his head in his hands, and groaned. "How stupid."

"Don't feel bad. It was actually kind of funny," Romano admitted from the safety of the tent.

"Come on out. The sheep are gone. Let's talk about what we want to do next. I mean, at this point, we have no air mattress and no food. We could go buy more, or we could go back home."

The Italian came out of the tent. "You want my honest opinion?"

"Of course. Don't try to make some personal sacrifice just to appease me."

"Wouldn't dream of it, bastard." This made England laugh, and he looked up – only to be hit in the face with a pinecone.

"What the hell? Did you just throw a pinecone at me?"

Romano looked around nervously. "No. I don't even – " Whack! Another pinecone hit the ground nearby. They looked up into the canopy of trees and saw pinecones beginning to bounce all around them.

"Bloody hell. It's those stupid squirrels. They're jumping around and knocking the pinecones off the trees." The island nation turned to his friend. "I really hope you were going to say 'let's leave.' Were you?"

"Cheh, yes, of course I was. I like it here, but you know I'm not desperate for nature shit."

"Good. Let's pack up and get out of here before I get hit again."

The two made short work of breaking camp and stuffing everything randomly into England's car. "Want to stop for breakfast somewhere?"

"Sure, bastard. Someplace with good coffee."

…

By the time they'd gotten back to London, Romano had recovered his equanimity. "I'm definitely putting camping on my list of things to do with you in future, bastard," he snarked.

"Shut it, wanker."

…

_Inspired by the worst camping trip ever...17 hours away from home, including the travel time. No sheep ate our food, but otherwise…dammit._


	36. Film Festival

**Film Festival.**

"I'm glad we're doing this. We haven't been on a trip together for such a long time. I don't know why you keep blowing me off when I suggest trips, anyway. Sometimes you can be such a git_._"

"Cheh. I'm just too lazy to travel, I guess."

"That sounds about right." England punched Romano in the arm.

"Ow. Knock it off, bastard."

They had just arrived at a film festival in New York. Not a preferred destination for either of them, but all the films they were scheduled to see were favorites of one or both of them. Romano in particular was pleased because all the films they wanted to see would be shown consecutively in the same theatre, so they wouldn't have to go running all over the place to find the next showing. They found their seats and sat down. England had suggested they not start snacking too early, which had seemed like a very good idea. They'd get something to eat later.

"Hey, look! There's America!" The blond pointed across the theatre, and yes, it was indeed his former colony, all alone, slurping on a gigantic soda and carrying an enormous bucket of popcorn. "It's only eight in the morning! He's going to die of heart failure one of these days."

"Is he alone, or does he have a date?"

"I don't see anybody with him."

"Did – did you ever tell him we were, were dating, bastard?" He twisted his fingers together nervously.

England looked back at Romano. "You're so bloody cute when you talk about this stuff," he smirked, ruffling his friend's hair.

"Shut up, dammit." Romano fixed his hair.

"I didn't tell him, but then, he probably knows. I mean, it's been a long time since we started seeing each other. Somebody must have said something to him by now?"

"But he never mentioned it to you?"

"Why would he? Unless he wants to know what you're like in bed, or something…hahaha…ow! Stop punching me, wanker."

"The movie's starting. Shut up."

The first movie was the all-American classic 'Some Like it Hot.' Romano had never seen this movie but England loved it, so he was looking forward to it, even though the mob would be appearing. But apparently it was a very funny movie.

During the pivotal murder scene, he reached out and squeezed his friend's hand; England held it comfortingly, rubbing his thumb over its back. Romano relaxed a little.

When the two leads first appeared in drag, he let out an audible snort. "_Chigi!_ Is that the best they could do?" he whispered to England.

"Give them a break. They're both very manly guys. How do you think we would look, if we suddenly had to dress up in drag to get out of town?"

This made them both laugh pretty hard, although they kept the noise down to avoid irritating the viewers around them. "Bastard. You'd never get me in a dress."

"You're right," England whispered back, pointing at the screen. "You'd make a worse-looking woman than they do." He grinned in the dark, slightly maliciously.

"Want to bet? I'd make a damn convincing woman! And you know it."

"Rubbish."

"I'd make a better woman than you would, bastard."

"Prove it."

Then they both started laughing again, this time a little more out of control, and some of the people near them gave them funny looks. Romano abruptly let go of England's hand, which he had still been holding, and they watched most of the rest of the movie calmly.

…

"That _was_ pretty good, bastard. Better than I'd expected." Romano stood up and stretched during the break.

"You just don't trust me. You should know I wouldn't pick a stupid movie!"

"I know you wouldn't do it intentionally, but maybe our tastes are different."

"Maybe. Whatever. Sit down, git. Or do you want America to see you? Maybe he'll come over and chat with us? Would you like that?" He poked Romano in the stomach.

The half-nation sat down abruptly – but it was too late. America had, in fact, seen him, while on his way back from the concession stand with a bagful of candy. They saw him turn to look towards them, saw him nod at Romano with a half-smile, and then realize England was there, too. He frowned, wrinkling his nose a little in confusion, but then kept walking to his seat as the lights dimmed for the next showing.

"What the hell was all that about?"

"Ah, just ignore him."

"Is it possible he really doesn't know about us? That was a very funny look he gave us."

"Who cares? Just sit down and shut it!"

This second movie was 'The Scarlet Pimpernel.' England had also chosen this movie, because it showed the English being very noble, and the frogs being ridiculous, noisy, inept and dirty. Chauvelin in particular irritated him, and he loved to watch the Scarlet Pimpernel defeat him.

"Nice costumes," Romano offered after a while, laying his head on England's shoulder companionably.

"Not quite accurate," came the whispered reply, "but good enough for the movies." He took Romano's hand.

"Were the French really this – this – like this?" Romano finally wondered, an hour later.

"Still are," England snorted. "But, yes. Not everyone in Britain was as smooth and polished as Sir Percy, either, though."

"Cheh, I get it."

Romano did appreciate this film, showing the English in such a good light. It had nothing to do with the fact that France was a perverted bastard and friends with Spain.

…

"Again, you made a good choice," he said to his friend, who stood up to stretch. "So we had a funny movie and a historical one."

"What's up next?"

"My choice – 'Sunset Boulevard.'"

"I don't even know that movie. Heard of it, but don't know it. What's it about?"

"Wait and see, bastard," and then both of them looked up to see America looming over them. Surprisingly, they'd both forgotten about him.

"Hey, you guys! You came all the way to New York just for the film festival?"

"What of it, git? Good films are good films no matter where they're shown."

"Haha, yeah, I know. I'm just surprised to see you both. Did you pick out these movies on purpose or are you just going to stick around and watch whatever they're showing? I just chose a room at random and I'm sticking around until all the films are done for today."

Oh. Lucky them.

The lights began to go down. "Whoops! Gotta get back to my seat. Okay? I'll talk to you guys later, see ya!" America scooted back to the other side of the theatre.

"Dammit."

This movie was interesting, but very dark. Romano liked film noir, and sat holding England's hand, snuggled up against his shoulder again, occasionally exchanging murmured commentary with his friend. Every now and then England would turn his head so that his lips moved through Romano's hair, and give him a gentle kiss.

…

"Bloody hell. That was a really intense movie." He let go of Romano's hand and sat up straight.

"Not everything in life is going to be all happy sparkly unicorn shit, you know."

"I know. And it was a good one; it really makes you think about things. How little things can lead to big consequences."

"And that you should avoid crazy old ladies, too, bastard." They chuckled a bit before realizing that you-know-who was back, with another perplexed look on his face. He sat on the arm of England's chair.

"So how did you guys decide to come here together, anyway?" America asked.

"I don't get your question, bastard. We wanted to come to the film festival, so we did!"

"I didn't realize you were such a film buff, Romano, that's all. I know Iggy has a serious thing for American movies, though." England blushed, and America and Romano poked him in opposite arms.

"Shut it, both of you gits." He crossed his arms defiantly.

"I guess if you let him make your social plans you're going to get roped into this stuff." America lifted his bag of candy and offered it to them. "Want some?"

"Uh, no thanks, bastard. I need some real food before I can start in on the candy."

"Oh, come on, Romano, if we split one candy bar it won't kill us. Pick something."

Romano dipped his hand into the bag and pulled out a Caramello. "Oh. Yes," he breathed, with a rising blush, instantly distracted by all the ways melted caramel could be enjoyed. Although in a movie theatre it might be difficult…

"Caramel is good," England said. "Do you like it? Or do you want to pick something else?"

"Yes, of course I like it, dammit. Let's just save it for when the movie starts," he grumbled, rubbing his forehead as if with a headache.

"Are you all right, Romano? You look overheated." America's voice was concerned. "Should I ask them to turn on the air conditioning?"

"Chigi! I'll be all right, just don't worry about it, okay, bastard?" He looked up at America, face still quite red. "But – but thanks for offering, though."

England took the wrapped candy bar from Romano's unresisting fingers. Then the lights went down.

"Yeah, gotta go again," America sighed. "Every time we start talking, a new movie starts!"

"It's a film festival, you idiot, what do you expect?" England poked him in the stomach. "Go back to your seat."

"Yeah, okay! Later!" America strode away.

There was a very short silence while the opening credits for 'On the Town' rolled. Then: "Give me some candy, bastard."

They shared the Caramello quietly while they watched the musical. When England began to clean off his sticky fingers, Romano grabbed his hand and quietly licked and sucked all the remaining candy from each finger. He could feel his friend squirming in his seat, clenching his other fist in his lap, making tiny, tiny moans. When he finished, and let go of the blond's hand, England immediately slid that hand between his friend's thighs and began stroking up and down suggestively.

"Hey, before you start that, you need to clean off my fingers," Romano breathed, and offered his hand.

While England slowly cleaned the molten caramel off Romano's long warm fingers with his tongue, neither of them paid any attention to the movie at all. Romano just groaned and gripped his friend's other hand tightly. They sat together in the dark, mostly ignoring the rest of the movie, focused on the feeling of each other's hands, the proximity of each other's body. When he'd finished, England laid his head on Romano's shoulder, for a change, and the brunet played with his fingers, kissing, sucking and fondling, while he occasionally turned and nuzzled the island nation's messy hair.

…

The lights came back up; patrons stood to stretch. "I need the rest room," England muttered darkly. "Let me out of here."

"Yeah, I know, bastard, me too." They got up, checking to make sure they had their ticket stubs, and went to the men's room together. It was quite crowded and noisy in there, so they didn't linger.

"Do you want to get anything to eat?"

"Ah, let's skip it; there are only two more movies, and then we can go out for a nicer dinner? Movie food is shit," Romano laughed.

"All right. Let's get back to our seats before they start the next movie. What's this one anyway?"

"'Silverado.' A Western."

"You Italians sure love your Westerns, don't you? Is it good?"

"It's very good, dammit! Why would I have picked it otherwise?" He frowned at his friend.

"Never mind, just, whatever." They got back to their seats to find America sitting in the chair next to England's.

"What are you doing over here, bastard?"

"Well, I thought it would save time if I didn't have to keep crossing the room to talk to you guys! I traded my ticket to the guy next to you. My seat was better anyway."

Romano and England looked at each other; then England raised his eyebrows in resignation. Romano just snorted.

"Hey, you feeling better, Romano?" America asked.

"I'll be fine. Hey, you know, I remember you took Belgium to the Tokyo film festival. You go to these a lot?"

"Yeah! I love the movies. It's good escapism, nice to get away from the craziness of the real world."

"In other words you can't handle reality, wanker?"

"Aw, Iggy, that's not what I'm saying at all. It's just fun to escape into someone else's reality for a while."

Romano considered this. "That's a pretty effective way of putting it. I'm surprised."

England snickered. "Score one for America…first time anybody's called him effective in years."

"Hey, I'm always heroically effective!" The lights started to go down. "Oh, good. I love Westerns."

"Shut it. Just watch the movie!" England hissed.

…

England, stuck between these two, was having an extremely difficult time of things. On the one hand, America kept leaning over to make whispered commentary on the movie…a lot of whispered commentary…it could even be called babbling, and was somewhat distracting. On the other hand, because he knew the blond could not react when America was on his other side, Romano was smirking, teasing him surreptitiously with his fingers, with little secret kisses, with little sexy murmurs into his ear..._seriously_ distracting. England tried squeezing his hand in warning, but it only served to increase Romano's carryings-on.

Finally he had to hiss at him directly. "Please stop! Or I'll make you sit in the middle next time!" He added an elbow jab for emphasis.

Romano let go and stopped immediately. America hadn't seemed to notice a thing.

…

"We're doing all right," England admitted when the movie was over. "So far, not a bad movie in the bunch. It is hard to concentrate with you two – talking – to me all the time during the movie, though. Could you please stop?" he asked, squeezing Romano's hand warningly, where America could not see.

"Sure, no problem, Iggy. Hey, maybe I should sit in the middle?"

"What?" both the others chorused. "No, that won't work," Romano pointed out quickly, "because then you'd be talking to both of us, and distracting us both. At least this way you can limit your distractions to England."

"Thanks a lot, wanker," England snarled.

"Anytime, bastard," his friend replied with a laugh.

"You guys want any more candy? I think there are a couple left." America lifted the bag.

"Not me, thanks," the island nation quickly said. If he and Romano started eating caramel again…with America right next to him…argh, he didn't even like to let that idea continue.

But then Romano said, "Sure, if you have another caramel one in there."

England gave him an alarmed look and stammered, "But – but you – you'll, you'll ruin your appetite for dinner!" he beamed, with the air of having successfully negotiated a tricky situation. Romano laughed a little, too.

"Well, there is another Caramello in here," America said dubiously. "Do you want it?"

"Yes please, but I'll save it for later, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind a bit, you bloody bastard," England growled. Romano just chuckled at this and put the candy bar in his coat pocket.

"Whoa! Iggy, that's pretty harsh!"

"He deserves it." The island nation crossed his arms in a huff and focused on the blank screen, resolutely ignoring all of Romano's goads and America's reproaches.

America finally sat back in his chair and sighed. "What's the last movie, anyway?"

"'The Sting.' A classic slice of Americana. I can't believe you didn't know that." England had finally felt ready to rejoin the conversation. He kept away from Romano, though, just to be safe.

"Excuse me?" A lady behind them tapped Romano on the shoulder. "It's not going to be 'The Sting.' There was some problem. They're going to show 'How to Steal a Million,' instead."

Romano thanked her nicely and turned back to his friends. "Do you bastards know that movie? I've never even heard of it."

"It's a screwball comedy caper," England replied, still somewhat withdrawn. "The glorious Peter O'Toole and the glamorous Audrey Hepburn."

"Oh. I'm in," Romano said easily. "I love screwball comedy, bastards."

"You're kidding!" Both the others turned to look at him.

"What are you two looking at? What's wrong with screwball comedy?"

"Nothing! I like it too," America said.

"So do I. I just never pegged you as that type."

"I guess we really don't know Romano all that well, do we, Iggy?"

Romano bit his lip and England shrugged. "Guess not," the island nation finally managed, as the lights began to go down.

…

Romano was a little worried about England's harsh reactions to his earlier taunts, so he settled back to enjoy the movie with no teasing at all. After a little while, he felt his friend's hand come cautiously stealing towards him, and he took it and laced their fingers together with a relieved smile that was lost in the dark.

…

When the lights came on, America turned to his friends with a grin. "Uh –" He froze.

"'Uh' what?" Then England suddenly realized he and Romano were still holding hands, and that this was where America's gaze had wandered. He dropped Romano's hand like a hot potato, and the brunet turned away, covering his mouth with his hand.

"You – you guys are dating?"

"You don't have to yell it all over the auditorium, you idiot," Romano hissed.

"Yes, we're dating," England, more resigned, managed to say in a calmer voice. "Is that some kind of problem?" He looked at America, who still hadn't moved, who was still staring at the place where their joined hands had been.

"That's – that's great!_"_ he yelled, surprising them both.

"Please stop shouting, America. It's not heroic to embarrass your friends."

The hero got a grip and spoke in a lower tone. "Sorry, Iggy. Sorry, Romano. But still – that really is awesome!"

"Yeah, we know, bastard, that's why we're doing it."

"Haha, wait until I tell France!"

Romano and England looked at each other in astonishment. "Francy-pants already knows," England finally said.

"Really? How about Spain?"

"Yeah, the tomato bastard knows." Romano sighed and rested his chin in his hand, elbow propped resignedly on the chair arm.

"How come I'm the last to know?" America whined.

"How the bloody hell should I know? Don't you pay attention to anything? We've been dating for months!"

"Well, be fair, bastard, we haven't been shouting it from the rooftops."

America looked at Romano in puzzlement. "How come you still call him a bastard if he's your boyfriend?"

This made both the others laugh. "Romano will never stop saying that. I don't mind it. But we've got to get out of here." Almost everyone else had left the theatre. The three of them stood up and walked outside.

"You guys want to go out for a burger?" America asked, then: "I really can't believe you two are going out."

"Shut it, all right, wanker? We've got dinner plans, but thanks for asking."

"We'll see you at the next meeting, or something," Romano added.

"Yeah, all right. Have a great night. It was so cool to see you both!" America turned and walked away, waving.

As soon as he was out of range, they began laughing with the release of tension, and after a moment England pulled his friend close for a passionate kiss. "You're going to pay for what you did in there," he growled against Romano's lips.

Romano threaded his fingers into the blond hair. "Can't wait. Let's go."


	37. Amusement Park, Chapter 1

**Amusement Park, Chapter 1.**

The house phone rang; Romano, in the kitchen, picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. How are you?" England's voice was always so warm and cheerful over the phone.

"Nh, could be better. My brother and the potato bastard are here." Romano picked up his coffee cup and walked out of the kitchen into the spacious living room, where the other two were seated with their coffee. Veneziano focused on his brother, while Germany seemed to be interested in the newspaper TV listings. They'd just finished a tasty meal of garlic bread and pasta with tomato sauce, but this had been tainted for Romano by the presence of his brother's macho boyfriend.

"Do you need to go? Call me back later."

"No, that's all right, bastard, we were just talking about you. Wanted to ask you something."

"You were talking about me. _Great._"

"Well, sort of. Not like that. Japan invited them over for a weekend, including a day at some fancy amusement park, and now the bastard can't go, but those two are going to go anyway. They wondered if we wanted to join them, since they have extra tickets." Romano tried to put a little venom into his voice. A day at an amusement park with _Veneziano and the potato bastard!_ Argh! But he knew his brother was paying close attention, so he had to at least _ask._

"Sure, I don't mind. Amusement parks are usually fun, and I've never been to one in Japan yet."

"_Chigi!_"

"What? Didn't you just invite me, you git? You don't want me to go?"

Romano couldn't speak his mind with the other two in the room. "Grr." He paced a little, drinking his coffee, trying not to look at his idiot brother's beaming, attentive smile. "Oh, for fuck's sake…dammit…"

"You don't want to go. Is that it?"

"Yes, that's right, bastard," he growled.

"Well then, why the hell did you even bother asking me?"

"Be-because, they, I – oh, dammit, never mind."

"Because they're sitting right there waiting for you to ask, yeah?"

"Yeah," Romano muttered, kicking the sofa. "Son of a bitch."

"Well, come on, though. I mean, what's the harm in going? It could be fun. We haven't been to Japan together yet, which would be nice. They, er, they don't want us to share a hotel room with them, do they?" He snickered.

Romano could feel his blush spiking into the danger zone. "Please just shut up about that stuff!" he roared into the phone. Then he set down the coffee cup and rubbed his hand over his face. "Please."

"Are you blushing? Of course you are, git."

"Never mind! I don't want to talk to you, bastard!" Romano hung up the phone abruptly and threw it on the table. The battery cover popped off, so Veneziano picked it up and put it back on.

Germany was obviously fighting some acid commentary, if the twitching of the newspaper was anything to go by, but his brother looked at Romano artlessly. "Ve, did England say he would go to Japan with us or not?"

Romano just growled again and left the room, leaving the phone on the table.

A moment later the telephone rang again. "I'm not answering that!" came a hoarse yell from the kitchen.

"Hello, Italy Veneziano speaking! Ve, England, hello! How are you? Yes, that's right! We certainly are…No, no; we're all really looking forward to it…" Here, Veneziano looked towards the kitchen doubtfully. "Well, maybe not Romano. He's pretty pissed off right now! What did you say to him, ve?"

Romano stormed out of the kitchen and wrenched the phone away from his brother. "Don't ask stupid questions, idiot," he hissed to Veneziano, and raised the phone to his ear. "Yes! What do you want?"

"What do _I_ want? I wanted to talk to you, wanker! What do you think I wanted?"

"Don't – start. Just – all right, hold on a second." He put his hand over the phone. "I'm taking the phone up to my room," he announced to the other two, "and I will come back down and let you know what has been decided. Understood?"

"Understood, fratello," Veneziano smiled. Germany continued to ignore him, hiding behind the still-shaking newspaper.

Romano ran up the steps to his room and slammed the door shut. "OK, I'm here. Now listen –" he started, but England interrupted.

"What the hell's the matter with you? I don't think I've ever heard you this – this testy."

"Dammit, those bastards drive me right up the fucking wall."

"Are you alone right now?"

"Yes, I brought the phone up to my room. Now, talk to me, but do – not – start – any – stupid – talk! Got that?"

"I never talk stupid," England said hotly, his grammar belying his statement. "There's no reason for you to get stroppy with _me_."

"England!" After Romano had yelled that, he felt surprisingly much calmer. "All right. I'm calm now. Are you all right to talk?"

"_Me?_ I was perfectly fine until you started hollering at me, you bloody wanker!"

Romano took a deep breath. Then another. "I'm going to hang up now," he said.

"What the _fuck _is –" England's voice was cut off as Romano hung up.

He pressed the phone button on and off a few times to keep the line busy, to prevent any incoming calls. This might have been a successful tactic if his cell phone hadn't been sitting right next to him on the nightstand. It eventually rang with England's cheery special ringtone. "Dammit!"

Romano threw the house phone down on the bed and picked up the cell, taking a deep breath before answering. He took a second to look at the cute picture of England on the phone in hopes that it would help him relax. Right. He decided to try and pretend none of the previous conversations had happened. They might actually get through the telephone call that way. "Hello? Italy Romano speaking."

There was a snort from the other end of the phone, then: "Hi, Romano. It's me, England. Are you busy right now?"

Sounded like he had decided to play along. Good. "No, not busy at all, bastard," he said with a smile, softening his voice. "How have you been?"

Was that growling he heard? "Apart from a short and weirdly disturbing phone argument with my boyfriend, there has been nothing of note to report," the blond finally said. "And you?"

"Everything's fine, now that I'm alone and talking to you," he replied simply. "Sorry about before."

"Yeah, me too." There was a moment of embarrassed silence before England took up the previous conversation's thread again. "Do you – er – want to talk about this amusement park thing or not?" His voice was soft and almost fearful.

Romano lay back on the bed. "Yes, we might as well, dammit. Do you really want to go?"

"Like I said, I don't mind. I always like traveling with you, so…why don't we go and make the best of it?"

"But – with them? I mean, I can deal with Veneziano, but traveling with the _potato bastard_? Voluntarily?"

"He makes your brother happy, doesn't he?"

Silence while Romano tried to muster up the courage to admit the truth of this statement.

"How would you feel if Veneziano told you, 'You can go, but not that wanker England'?" the island nation continued.

"Right, like my brother would ever say 'wanker.'"

"Don't be an arse again, or I'll hang up on you," England cautioned irritably.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. I guess you're right." They spent another moment not speaking before he caved. "Sure. Let's go to Japan with them and visit an amusement park. Worst case we can always wander off on our own, right?" He gave England the dates and the name of the hotel, and they arranged to meet in Veneziano's hotel room. That way Romano could have some companionship while he waited for England to arrive.

When England had all the information written down and had checked his calendar, he suggested, "Who knows? Maybe you'll get to be better friends with Germany as a result of this trip."

_"Chigi!"_

_..._

_Stay tuned._


	38. Amusement Park, Chapter 2

**Amusement Park, Chapter 2.**

Two weeks later, the Italies and Germany had settled into their Japanese hotel rooms. The brothers had played a halfhearted game of poker for a while, but Romano had been too distracted about his friend and couldn't concentrate. Germany lay on the hotel bed, trying to read a Japanese periodical, occasionally commenting on the language or the content.

"I'm going back to my room," Romano finally said. "I'm tired and want to get some sleep before tomorrow."

"Ve, what if England had some trouble?"

"Well, he does have my cell number, so…he probably would have called, if there were any problems. He might just have fallen asleep in the room."

"He should be fine," Germany put in, without looking up from his magazine. "Just let us know if anything goes wrong, yes?"

"Yes, all right, macho potato," he scoffed, opening the door to leave…and then he remembered what England had said about Veneziano's happiness. "See you both tomorrow morning," he said in a marginally less hostile tone, shutting the hotel room door quietly.

In the room he and England would be sharing – yep, the island nation was lying fully-clothed on the bed, snoring deeply. Romano crossed to the side of the bed in irritation, wondering why England hadn't bothered to come to the other room, but then his look turned to a soft smile as he watched his friend. He really was so fucking cute when he was asleep, with his hair sticking out like the fluff on a baby bird. Romano reached out a hand and brushed the bangs off England's face. The blond smiled a little, but didn't wake up. Ah, might as well let him rest. He leaned close and gave him a gentle goodnight kiss on the forehead.

Romano then washed up and changed into his sweatpants for bed. Hmm. It would be difficult to get a sleeping England under the covers, but if he stayed on top of the bed, he'd get cold. The brunet found a spare blanket and covered his friend with it, moving to slide himself under the bedcovers on the other side. "Good night, England," he whispered, but of course the other didn't respond.

…

Several hours later, England awoke quite disoriented, wondering why he was still fully-dressed, and where he was. Then he looked up and saw Romano next to him, his face peaceful in repose, and remembered. He slipped out of the bed to change into pajamas and wash up.

When he came back, sliding under the proper covers, he pressed a sweet little kiss to Romano's lips. The Italian opened his eyes just a bit, smiling, and then drifted off again. England rolled over happily and sank back into sleep as well.

…

"Hey, good morning, sunshine," Romano said, laughing a little. "Did you sleep well?"

"Nh," England said, trying to wake up. "Yeah. Come here." He drew Romano into the warm circle of his arms. "Missed you so much," he murmured, nuzzling his friend's face sleepily, stroking his hair, his shoulders, tangling their feet together under the covers.

"Me too," the brunet whispered, kissing him. "Six weeks is too damn long to be apart." England ran his hands lightly down Romano's back, just barely sliding them into the waistband of his sweatpants. "Uh, _much_ too long." He pressed a little closer, kissing more intently, and then someone knocked on the door. They sprang apart guiltily. "Dammit."

"Probably only your brother, right?" England yawned and burrowed back under the covers.

"Yes, the idiot." Romano got up and opened the door a crack. "What?" he growled, upon seeing the beaming, alert Veneziano, dressed spiffily in his blue military uniform, trying to salute and failing. Not that Romano was any better at it.

"Just wanted to make sure everything was all right with England, ve!"

"Yes, it's fine. We just woke up, so –"

"That's all right, fratello! Me and Germany are going to have some breakfast, but you can join us whenever you're ready. We always have a very leisurely breakfast when we're traveling together, because the day can get so hectic. So, just come down to the hotel restaurant when you're dressed, all right? We'll order a lot of different food so you can just sit down and eat."

"We'll be down in a few minutes, idiot. Get some coffee. A lot of coffee."

"Okay! Take your time. Just be down in time to eat and then leave by nine, okay? That gives you almost a whole _hour~_"

"Right!" Romano slammed the door shut, face instantly aflame.

"A whole hour?" England, having overheard the entire exchange, grinned and stretched. "Mm, come back to bed, then, mio demone," he purred seductively.

"No! A whole hour to get up, get ready, go downstairs _and_ have breakfast! So there's not enough time for – for anything else." Romano moved to the dresser, still blushing, not looking at his friend.

"You're too bloody uptight about this. You really think they'd leave without us?" But England did get out of the bed and then stretched again. "I'm going to take a shower," he announced, since Romano was rummaging around for something to wear and hadn't answered him.

"You don't have _time!"_

"For crying out loud, of course I have time. It takes me five minutes to shower and five minutes to get dressed. Five more minutes to get to the restaurant and I'm all set! What's the problem?" He scowled at his friend, who had already changed out of his sweatpants and was pulling on a pair of black jeans over his boxers.

"Fine, it's your funeral, bastard. If we leave for the park without you, don't come crying to me."

England gave a short, sharp laugh. "Yeah, _you'd_ do that, wouldn't you? Well, your brother and Germany wouldn't be such wankers. Go. I'll be down when I'm dressed." He went into the bathroom and slammed the door, leaving Romano to finish getting dressed all alone.

"Dammit! How can I brush my teeth?" Romano then snarled under his breath. But if he went into the bathroom now – and England was in the shower – "Hey, bastard!"

The bathroom door opened and England, still dressed in his pajamas, toothbrush in mouth, stuck his scruffy head out. "What now?" he mumbled.

"Let me come in and wash up, dammit." He pushed past his friend into the bathroom. England came out and sat on the bed, fuming and brushing his teeth.

Two minutes later Romano came out, clean and smirking. "There you go, bastard, the bathroom's all yours."

"Git." England went back in and slammed the door again_,_ and Romano cheerfully left for the hotel restaurant.

…

Japanese breakfast was bizarre_._ And the coffee was kind of unusual, too. Romano tried to compensate by drinking several extra cups of it while he fidgeted irritably and looked over at the door for England every few minutes. He checked his watch again. Huh, thirteen minutes already; he was going to give his friend an earful if he took longer than the promised fifteen! Veneziano and Germany had been happily eating and talking the entire time and it was already making him cranky. Perhaps _he_ hadn't had enough sleep? Of course, those two always made him cranky. He ate a little bit more, listlessly, drinking more coffee too.

"Ve, there's England," his brother finally announced. The island nation, hair a little damp, started to slouch towards their table, still looking a little sleepy and rumpled, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

Fucking adorable bastard. Romano checked his watch again. Fifteen minutes right on the dot. Dammit_._

"Good morning, England! That's a very nice sweater you're wearing!"

"It is rather interesting," Germany admitted. The sweater in question was knit in wide stripes of toxic waste green and dark grey, and appeared to be made of some extremely fuzzy yarn. Veneziano put out a hand and stroked the sleeve as England moved to sit down. Romano poured England a cup of coffee immediately, knowing how zoned he always was when first waking up.

"I almost feel dowdy next to you three," Germany continued. He was wearing his habitual fatigues, which completely lacked style, and his military cap sat on the breakfast table.

Romano snorted. He knew _he_ looked good – ever since England had once told him how good he looked in darker colors, he'd been trending towards an all-black wardrobe, and today was no exception, with the black jeans and boots, dark blue t-shirt, and lightweight black silk jacket. How was it possible for the potato bastard to hang around with his idiot brother and not pick up _any _style? Oblivious bastard.

Meanwhile, England drank the coffee gratefully but didn't speak yet. He stared vacantly at the table.

"Fifteen minutes right to the second, bastard, you're good," Romano pointed out. England quirked a tiny little smile, but still didn't say anything or look at anyone. He drew a deep breath.

"So where did you get such an unusual sweater, ve? It feels so nice and furry!" Veneziano petted it again, which began to irritate Romano. He wanted to touch it, too; it really did look soft and super-fluffy, kind of like England's hair…but his friend was sitting opposite him, between his brother and the potato bastard, and he couldn't reach it without looking like a grabby idiot.

"If I'm not mistaken, the yarn is made of mohair?" Germany postulated, eying it, but not touching.

England nodded subtly and finished the coffee, yawning again. Romano poured him another cup at once. "Don't expect a lot of high-class conversation, bastards. He's always a bit of a zombie until he gets some coffee in him." He tilted his head to the side, smiling affectionately at his sleepy friend, remembering other, cozier mornings together. Then he caught both Veneziano and Germany looking at him in surprise. Romano blushed and turned away, frowning.

For a while the other three nations just ate idly and watched England drink his coffee. Veneziano even checked his watch a few times.

"This is fascinating," Germany eventually said. "I should study this under controlled lab conditions."

Before Romano could explode at that, England shook his head, trying to force himself awake. "Sorry. Is there any coffee? It would help me wake up faster." All three of the others stared at him. "What?" He recoiled a little.

"You've had two cups, bastard! Usually it only takes two cups!" Romano scowled again but nobody else was looking at him.

"Hotel coffee is always shite, everywhere in the world." England looked into the cup and then ran his hands through his hair. "I guess you've spoiled me with espresso, Romano," he grinned, blushing just a little. His friend fought not to smile back at him; he'd look like a sap. "Sorry. Talk to me, you guys, help me concentrate and wake up. Did you have a good trip?"

"Everything went as planned," Germany stated. "There were no hitches in the travel. And you?"

"Yes, it was all fine, just tiring, as always."

"Why do you get so sleepy in the mornings, England? Why not just go to bed earlier, ve?"

"It doesn't work that way for me, I just don't know why." He ate some of the things on the table absently, not really understanding what they were. He yawned again. This in turn made everyone else yawn.

Romano was getting irritated with all this sleepiness. "Dammit, will you just get a grip and wake up?"

"I'm doing my best, git. Hey, do you think there might be a real coffee shop on the way to the park?"

"Maybe. Maybe there will be one _at_ the park, ve? There are usually lots of different food stalls at amusement parks!"

"We can at least seek one out en route. Are we ready to go?" Germany stood up.

"Give me a few more minutes; I want to eat a little bit more. I haven't had much yet."

"Ah, don't worry about it, ve, England! We can try all the different foods at the park!"

England shrugged in defeat and rose, grabbing a steamed pork bun to eat on the way.

"I'm ready, bastards. This food is weird_."_

"Yes, Japan's food is quite different from European food, but it's always beneficial to experience the meals of a different culture. It broadens the horizons." Romano just huffed at this piece of potato bastard wisdom and got up from the table.

"So, England, I asked you about your nice sweater but you were too sleepy to answer! It's so interesting, and Germany said it's made of mohair, ve? What's mohair?"

"Mohair is the hair shorn from the Angora goat," England replied in his lecturing tone, as they walked out of the restaurant. "Kid mohair is shorn from very young goats, and that's what this yarn is made of. It's softer than the hair from the older goats." Romano stared at him in amazement. The island nation continued, "I knit this myself a while back, but I don't do much knitting any more, mostly just embroidery these days." Romano continued to stare, although both Veneziano and Germany seemed to take this in stride.

"May I pet it again, ve? It's so very fuzzy. I really like it!" They made their way towards the nearest train station, since they'd need to ride to get to the park.

"Thanks. Sure, pet it, whatever." He ate some of the pork bun as they walked, Veneziano fondling his sleeve.

"Germany, come and pet this sweater! It's so soft. Who would ever think goats could have such soft fur?"

"Technically goats have _hair, _not fur. But I don't need to feel it, Italy," Germany responded calmly. He put his hands in his pockets. "I've felt mohair yarn before."

Good thing, too, Romano considered. He did _not_ want the potato bastard petting his boyfriend!

"What about you, fratello? Or have you already seen this sweater before?"

"No, I haven't. I, I didn't know you could knit, dammit! Or do – do embroidery. That's really a nice-looking sweater!" He hung back a little; perhaps he'd be able to pet it if his brother and Germany weren't looking? Those two finally stepped forward a bit, out of earshot.

England blushed with pleasure. "Thanks, Romano." He looked at his friend's outfit with a smile. "Hey, you look kind of – of _dark_ today. Mysterious. Looks good." He finished off the pork bun, licking his fingers clean.

Now it was Romano's turn to blush. "Thanks, bastard."

"Now we just need to get you a tongue piercing." England nudged his friend with a smile.

"A tongue piercing. Right."

"Hey, there's nothing wrong with them!"

"How would you know? It's not like you have one."

"Aha, but I _used to_."

Romano stopped in his tracks. "You – had a – tongue piercing." He felt his breath growing shorter and lowered his voice. "You had a fucking _tongue piercing? _When?_"_ He grabbed England by the upper arms to steady himself.

"Back in the '90s." England grinned and stuck out his tongue for his friend's inspection, pointing to the site. "Eh?" he said, pulling his tongue back in. "Right there."

"Son of a bitch." Romano's face felt about ten different shades of red. "Wh-what happened to it," he breathed weakly, dropping his arms and looking away.

"Took the barbell out for a world meeting, forgot, it healed up by the time I got back home. Didn't like it enough to get it done again. Hurt like hell."

"Yeah, well, then maybe I don't need to get one."

"Probably not. Your tongue's perfect as it is." England licked his lips slowly, grinning.

"Sh-shut up with that stuff," Romano whispered, still a bit discombobulated.

"Okay."

Veneziano and Germany had moved quite a way ahead of them, and the younger Italy was cuddled up to his big boyfriend as usual. Romano now scoffed, distracted by this. "Why does he always have to cling onto the potato bastard like a little girl? He looks so stupid, dammit."

"Who the hell cares? Let them. They're happy." England looked at Romano sidelong. "It would be cute if you clung to me like that," he pointed out. "Even if you let me cling to _you _once in a while. But…I know…no hand-holding and shit in public…right?"

Romano blushed and looked down. It sounded pretty harsh when England said it in that venomous way. Still, at least he could take comfort in the fact that his friend had finally gotten the message and wouldn't be trying to make an idiot out of him in the streets of Japan.

"Yeah, I know," England continued in response to his silent reaction. "You don't want to talk about it. Fine, whatever." He walked a little faster. "It's always got to be about you, doesn't it, wanker?

"What the hell's your problem?"

"I don't know! Didn't you ever think it might actually be nice to be together like that?" England raked his hands through his hair. "I can't believe we're having this same damn discussion again. Forget I said anything. Just – don't talk to me for a little while." He shoved his hands into his pockets again and strode off. Romano hurried to catch up, but wisely didn't say anything.

They followed Germany and Veneziano to the train station in silence. Since this was a new geographic area for Romano, he used the time to study the different surroundings, the architecture and plants, the cars. Japan was so very different from Europe, in so many ways. He lost himself in a little daydream, idly wondering about the world, and how it had developed in such diverse pockets of civilization, how it might develop in the future.

England seemed to be lost in thought as well, though that might still have been anger. Dammit.

…

"Ve, I am just so excited, fratello! I love amusement parks, I really do. Don't you, Germany?" Veneziano bounced up and down on the train platform.

Germany cleared his throat as they found seats on the near-empty train. "I haven't been to an amusement park in a very long time, Italy. I suppose they are fine. It's just nice to be spending a relaxing day with you, a day away from work." The two of them sat on one side of the train, holding hands; Romano and England moved to the seats opposite them and sat. Not holding hands, of course.

"I like amusement parks," England offered. He seemed to have come out of his sulk. "There's always something different and interesting there. Right, Romano?"

"Nh," his friend responded noncommittally. He'd just realized that if he _had_ grabbed England in that goofy Veneziano way, it would have been the perfect opportunity to fondle the fuzzy sweater, which he'd still not yet been able to do! Now here they were on the train, sitting right opposite the idiot and the bastard, and there was no way he'd be able to run his hands across it without looking stupid. He snarled and crossed his arms.

"What the hell's the matter with you now?" the blond hissed. Romano just shook his head, looking at the floor.

Veneziano sat and stared at his brother with a big vague grin on his face. To avoid it, Romano looked around the train, then sort of over at England. Hmm. If he could lean over just a little –

As Romano tried to nonchalantly lean closer to England, the island nation stretched and bent forward, resting his head on his knees. _Dammit._ "Don't go to sleep, bastard," he said, nudging England's knee with his own, sinking back into his seat in resignation, sighing.

"I'm not! But I don't want to forget about coffee either."

"Ve, I thought you were always a tea drinker!"

"I am, but…that's just for refreshment. It doesn't help me wake up. I think Romano's been giving me drugged espresso or something lately," he laughed. "I feel like I've become addicted to it." He stretched his feet out across the aisle, and then tried to touch his toes.

"Espresso can be very beneficial during long work days." Germany smiled.

Veneziano squeezed his boyfriend's arm. "You work too hard, Germany! You should take breaks more often."

"I can handle it, Italy. Not everyone can be as carefree as you are."

"Amen," snarled Romano at the same time England said, "That's so true." They looked at each other and laughed. Veneziano didn't seem to have noticed this little exchange.

"This is our train stop," the tall blond then announced. "England, are you awake? All right?"

"I'm fine. Romano?"

"Cheh, yes, I'm fine, bastard, just get off the damn train."

After they exited, they immediately spotted a coffee shop and made their way to it. "Where is this amusement park, anyway?" England asked, as they waited for their drinks.

Germany deciphered the map on the tickets. "It should be right around that corner." The four of them took their coffees outside to walk and drink.

"Ah, this is good coffee," England took a deep draught. "This is just what I needed."

"I agree, bastard. This is top-quality stuff."

"Oh! Look at all the people!" Veneziano had grabbed Germany's arm again.

"Make sure we stay together," Germany cautioned; "I have the tickets, and if we get separated it could be a problem."

"Yes, all right, bastard, we know." Maybe he _should_ hold England's hand. Then at least they wouldn't get separated. Except they were both holding coffees, and maybe that would make it more awkward. "Dammit."

"What now? You really are in rare form today, aren't you?" England asked, frowning a little.

"Ah, don't mind me; it's just my stupid brain." Romano finished his coffee and threw the cup into a nearby trash can. They got in line for the park…still not holding hands.

"Excuse me," a park attendant said, looking at the tickets that Germany had fanned out. "Those are VIP passes. You don't need to wait in line. Step through the blue door and you can enter right away."

"Whee!" Veneziano called out, leaping into the air, and they made their way into the park.

After they'd gotten through the gate, Veneziano and Germany moved off to the side of the path, holding their copy of the park map, and began studying it. "Hey, bastard, come here." Romano reached a hand up towards England's shoulder, intending to stroke it down his back and feel the yarn while the other two were distracted.

Apparently England had other ideas; his eyes lit up and he stepped forward to grab his friend around the waist.

"Chigi! What are you doing?" Romano slipped backwards out of England's reach, blushing, scowling.

"Damn it, I thought you changed your mind about – about the _public shit_?"

"No – no, I – oh, forget it."

"What are you trying to do to me today, anyway?"

"What do you mean, what am I trying to do? I'm not trying to do anything!" Well, except touch the sweater, but he didn't really think that was what England was talking about.

"Bloody hell, Romano. I haven't seen you in six weeks; we had a couple of nice kisses in – in bed, and now you've been fighting with me all morning! I've missed you, and yes I understand you don't like the public stuff, but – well, you could at least _act_ a little nicer! I feel like I've been battling you forever, and the day hasn't even really started yet!" England blew out a sigh and turned away from his friend, shoving his hand through his hair.

Oh.

"I –" he began, but then Veneziano came over and grabbed his arm. "Come on, fratello, let's go ride on the Ferris wheel!" Romano allowed his brother to drag him off, following Germany, and it was only after about twenty steps that he realized England wasn't following them.

"Hey, wait up, Veneziano, let go of me. We'll catch up." He broke free of his brother's grip and ran back to where England still stood staring into the distance. "Uh…bastard?"

"What?"

"We, uh, we're going on the Ferris wheel…are you coming?" Maybe they could talk a little while they were on the ride? Shit, he hoped England wouldn't refuse to ride with him.

"Might as well." The blond kicked a nearby lamppost and stalked off after the others. Romano scurried to catch up. Dammit, today was shaping up to be a pretty miserable day.


	39. Amusement Park, Chapter 3

**Amusement Park, Chapter 3.**

Romano had finally caught up to England and they were almost even with the other two when he spotted the rest rooms. "Hey, bastards, hold on, I drank too much of that coffee. I'll be out in a minute."

"Ve, all right." Veneziano grabbed Germany's arm again, and they leaned against a sunny wall, smiling at each other.

"I'll come too, git." England followed his friend.

This early in the day, the rest room was deserted. As soon as the door had shut behind England he reached forward and yanked Romano back for a brutal kiss.

When they broke apart: "Wha – you – _what_?"

"Look." The blond kept his hands on Romano's arms. "I know you don't like the public stuff but it's driving me nuts. I really missed you. Will you at least let me be, be close to you, when we're alone?"

"In the rest room_, _bastard?"

England spiked into anger and he slammed Romano up against the wall. "In the bloody rest room or anywhere else!" He pressed the front of his body against his friend and laced his hands into the dark hair with aggression.

Oh, yes…England had that pirate look on his face…Romano, blushing, felt strong sudden desire coursing through him. "Yes, dammit," he whispered, and subtly molded his body closer to his friend's, raising his arms to grab his shoulders, to pull him closer. England surged forward even further and kissed Romano fiercely, moaning a little in satisfaction.

"You make everything so bloody difficult," he muttered against Romano's lips after a moment.

"B-but you make it all so worthwhile, bastard," Romano returned, biting England's lips just a little. He felt his friend's aggression softening, felt England nestling against his body more sensuously, and slid his hands under the sweater to caress his back.

For a few moments there was no sound but their ragged breathing as they kissed intently. Then England got a grip on himself and pulled away. "This probably isn't the best place for this."

"You're kidding," Romano offered dryly, grabbing him again. After a few more breathless kisses he released England and nodded. "Yeah. The only place worse I can think of would be the ladies' room." England snorted.

When they'd recovered and used the facilities, they walked out into the sunshine again. Germany and Veneziano were nowhere to be seen.

"Maybe they're in the _ladies' room_," England taunted. Romano punched him.

"No, there they are, over by the Ferris wheel. Guess they got tired of waiting?"

"It's not like we were in there all day. Maybe they realized we were going in there to make out."

Romano blushed and backhanded him in the chest. "Dammit! We weren't going in there to make out!" he hissed.

"I was." He pulled Romano closer with an evil grin. Romano yanked himself away. "And I always get my way, eventually."

"Cheh. You just got lucky."

"Didn't you?"

"Bastard."

They finally caught up with the other two, who had held a place in line for them.

"This Ferris wheel is a lot bigger than it looked from over there, ve."

"It will be fine. You know that the rides are tested for safety every morning. If there had been a problem it would not be open to the public."

"Still, that's a fucking huge Ferris wheel," Romano admitted.

"Don't tell me you're, er, scared of heights, git." Here, England looked away with a strange expression on his face.

"Nope. Never have been. Just saying."

Veneziano leaned his back up against Germany's broad chest and tilted his head back to look straight up at the top of the wheel. "Germany, are you sure it will be all right?"

The tall blond blushed a little and put a hesitant arm around his younger friend protectively. "It will be all right, Italy, I assure you." Romano turned away at this display of affection with a very irritated look on his face.

Finally they reached the front of the line. Veneziano was so eager to ride that the other two let him and Germany board first. The wheel then moved along; they took their seats. England immediately grabbed Romano's hand, keeping it on the seat, so no one else could see. Romano gave him a tiny, appreciative smile, and rubbed his friend's knuckles with his thumb.

As the wheel began its ascent, the two of them spent some time looking around the park, trying to see the extent of it. "This place is pretty damn big," the half-nation said in surprise. "I wouldn't have thought there was enough real estate around here to spread out a park this size."

England looked ahead of them. "Aw, look," he said, smirking. "Germany and your brother are making out on the Ferris wheel."

"Damn that stupid potato bastard." Romano didn't want to yell at him over this distance, though. He gripped England's hand a little more fiercely.

"Ow. Just let them kiss, ignore them." He pulled his hand free.

"Yeah, after _you_ pointed it out?"

"But it's just so damn cute. Your brother's like a pixie and Germany's like some big warrior. It's hilarious."

"A _pixie_?"

"Nothing wrong with pixies. Some of my best friends are pixies."

Romano groaned.

"Hey, are _you_ going to kiss _me_ while we're up here?" They'd stopped at the top of the wheel while the seat opposite them was being filled below. "I, er, need the distraction." England gripped the seat as it rocked back and forth.

"What? Why?"

"Scared of heights," he said tersely.

"You're kidding! A fucking _mighty nation _like you?"

"It's only when the wheel is stopped at the top, and the chair is rocking." England closed his eyes. "It always feels like the, the chair is going to come loose and f-fall off."

"Why the hell are we up here, then? Ah, never mind. Here, maybe just this once; nobody can see us." Romano leaned over and pecked him on the lips.

"Damn, that's some hot kissing, git." England opened one eye and laughed.

"Shut up." Suddenly Romano realized no one was watching him and he was right next to the sweater! He reached out and petted the sleeve a few times. "Huh, this really is super-fuzzy." He stroked England's forearm a little longer; the wheel moved on. "It's nice, bastard. You did a good job."

"Thanks." England just watched him, smiling fondly, all fear of heights temporarily forgotten. Romano was apparently an effective distraction.

…

Germany was trying to kiss Italy some more, but on the lower half of the wheel, their car was now behind the other one, and Veneziano was staring at England and Romano in dismay. "Germany, stop," he pleaded. "Look, how sad. They aren't even cuddling!"

"Never mind them," Germany growled, trying to turn the younger man's face to his, but Veneziano was stronger than he looked. He kept his gaze on his brother, who seemed to be arguing with his friend. Germany grabbed Veneziano again, and he turned away from him once more, in time to see Romano punch England on the shoulder.

"Ve," he said sadly, and turned back to his friend in resignation.

…

On the third and last cycle of the wheel, England finally persuaded the brunet to snuggle a little, and they sat with their heads nestled together. Romano was still irritated whenever he looked over at the potato bastard mauling his brother, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment, so he just sighed and turned his lips to England's hair. "Your hair's always such a fucking mess," he murmured affectionately, running his fingers through the back of it, as their seat passed the halfway point on the descent.

"Who the hell cares, git," replied the blond in an equally soft tone. He raised a hand to Romano's cheek and they shared a few gentle kisses, their other hands entwined on the seat. The wheel began making periodic stops as other passengers disembarked, but they stayed close and comfortable.

"Hey, what happened to my brother and the potato bastard?" Romano idly wondered.

"The wheel turned. They're behind us now."

"_Chigi!_ You mean they could see us kissing! Dammit, you did that on purpose." He pulled away quickly and looked off to the side in a huff.

"Bloody wanker," England laughed triumphantly, folding his arms over his chest. "Get over yourself."

…

"Whoa, Germany, look at this! Laser tag! I love shooting games. Come on, let's all go do this, ve!"

"Hang on a second; let me see what it is." England stepped up to the board and read about the game. "You wear a chest piece with a sensor in it, and you use a laser gun to shoot out the sensors in others' chest pieces. Get through the maze 'alive.' Sure, I'll do it."

"Are you _nuts?_" Romano was practically hyperventilating just at the description. "That's insane!"

"I agree," said Germany, surprising everyone. "I'm not sure I want to do this. I'm not sure I want you to do this, Italy."

"Let my brother do what he wants," Romano snarled. He hated it when Germany called his brother Italy. As if he, too, wasn't part of Italy. Dammit.

"Well, then England and I will do the laser tag, and you two can wait for us at the exit? Right?"

Romano rolled his eyes. Waiting around with the macho potato, great. "You don't really want to do this, do you, Veneziano? What if you get hurt?"

"Hey, you're not worried about me getting hurt, you git?"

"_You_? You bloodthirsty bastard, don't hurt my brother!"

"It's just a game, fratello. Nothing to worry about!" Veneziano started cackling in an evil way, which surprised England, but not Romano or Germany. "I'm going to kick England's ass, ve, watch me!"

"Like hell," the blond laughed, and grabbed Veneziano's arm. "We'll see you guys at the exit."

Germany moved off towards the exit, still looking rather disturbed. Romano was surprised, both at the fact that he hadn't wanted to join the others in what was essentially a war game, and that Germany seemed so distracted about his brother.

"Don't worry about them," he muttered. "England will take care of fratello. He loves that violent shit."

The blond scrubbed his hand over his face. "I'm not so much worried about your brother getting hurt, Romano. It – it distresses me when he feels the need to let this violent side emerge. It never goes well for me."

Romano considered this but didn't respond right away. Then he realized he couldn't possibly leave this discussion alone. "What are you talking about, bastard?"

"He's going to get – ah – well, you must know what he's like." Germany seemed embarrassed to talk about this.

"I don't get what you're trying to say." Romano leaned back against the fence that surrounded the laser tag building, crossing his arms and scowling. Germany faced the building with his forearms on the fence. "He likes to shoot, but it's not a big deal."

"I think perhaps your brother may have changed somewhat, from your perception of him."

"Meaning what? He's a bloodthirsty bastard? Pfft." Romano tried to reconcile this idea with what he knew of Veneziano. Nope. Couldn't do it.

There were a few moments of silence, and then Germany tried again. "He lets this violent side out, and then he's out of control."

"Out of control? My brother? Out of control in what way? Is he going to beat the crap out of England?" Romano actually laughed at this. England _was_ a fucking mighty nation, and there was no way the pixie-ish Veneziano could possibly beat him up. He laughed some more.

"You scoff now, Romano, but you'll see." Germany dropped his head into his hands while they waited. "I wish differently, but I know him well enough by now…"

They didn't speak further, just stood quietly. Romano idly looked around at the other park patrons for a while, but his brain was mulling over the concern Germany had shown. Well, he'd see what his fratello was acting like, when he came out of the building. Maybe there was something to the potato bastard's concern after all.

After a few more minutes, the two players emerged from the exit. Veneziano was laughing maniacally, arm slung around the silent England's shoulders, excitedly talking. Romano had sort of expected this craziness from England, since he'd probably gotten an adrenaline rush from the competition, but…_Veneziano_? He looked over to see how Germany was reacting…and saw that the potato bastard was actually backing away from his fratello with an agitated look on his face.

The younger Italy growled in a low voice, "Ve, Germany, it was so hot in there! You really should have come in with me!" He ran to jump up and embrace his boyfriend, wrapping his legs tightly around the panicking Germany's waist, sliding his hand into the back of the blond hair and pulling his resisting head close for a rough kiss. "Stop struggling, ve," he commanded in a dark, sensual tone, and Germany blushed bright red. Veneziano pressed his open mouth to his in a very demanding way.

Romano, jaw dropping, was so intent on this bizarre scene that he didn't pay any attention to England for a few minutes. When he finally thought to look for him, he found his friend leaning against the fence, facing away from them all, head in hands.

"B-bastard?"

"Don't. Don't talk, don't touch. Just – go away for a minute. Don't even look." England's voice was brutal. Romano backed away, not understanding, but trusting his friend. He did look, though; the alternative was watching his brother _attack the potato bastard!_ In public! Ugh.

England continued to stand with his back to them; Romano was getting more worried. Was he all right?

Germany had finally managed to pry Veneziano off him and was mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. "Italy, please. We're in public. Try to keep the – the – disturbances to a minimum?"

Veneziano simply grabbed him by the neckline of his shirt and pulled the blond's face down to his level. "Later," he hissed, sadistically, letting go and laughing crazily again, and Germany covered his eyes.

"_Please_, Italy."

"Ve, I love to hear you beg, Germany…"

Romano was still staring at his friend, desperately trying to ignore the others.

"Come along, Italy; let's go get a nice cold drink, yes? We'll meet you two at the soda stand." Germany grabbed his companion's arm and dragged him away.

"Nh," was Romano's only reply.

England must have heard them leave. He tried to straighten up and master himself. "Bloody hell. That was a fucking intense game. Bollocks." He put his hands on either side of his head and squeezed tightly, still facing away from Romano. "Are you still there?"

"I'm here, bastard. What – what happened? You seemed okay when you came out of the building, or maybe not? You, uh, got through it all right?" He took a few hesitant steps towards his friend. "Did you get hurt?"

"Eh, no, I'm all right, I guess. You know how I get…I was just trying to spare you, you know, in public, to calm down a bit. Sorry. I was kind of abrupt with you just now."

Dammit_._ Adorable _and_ considerate. "Th-that's all right, England. I - I know how you get. Thank you," he finished weakly. Would he really have minded? Cheh, yes, of course he would have. "Save it for later, bastard," he finally grinned, raising his eyebrows suggestively as England turned around to face him. "What worries me is how my brother was acting." Maybe this would take England's mind off the other thing.

"Why, how was he acting? He seemed perfectly normal to me." The island nation pushed his hands through his hair as they started slowly after the others.

"Normal for _you_, maybe. I've never seen him quite like that before. He was kind of – of _badass._"

"You think I'm normally badass? Aw, Romano, you rock."

"Shut up; you sound like the albino potato."

"Argh. Come on, let's go get a soda. I need to cool down."

…

"How brave are you feeling?" England asked the others, as they walked along with their sodas. Periodically he pressed the cold cup to his forehead.

"Uh…what do you have in mind, bastard?"

"Haunted house!" He gestured with the cup. "They're always so fun. I bet Japanese ones are super-scary, like their horror movies."

"Haunted houses are fun," said Veneziano, who still had a bit of an evil glint in his eye whenever he looked at Germany. "They're so fakely scary! Plus they're nice and dark, so it's cooler in there, ve."

Germany blushed. "I, I don't mind going through the haunted house." He dropped a hand on Veneziano's shoulder without looking at the younger man.

England raised his eyebrows and grinned at Romano, who just shook his head in disgust. "Well, then, what do you think? Will you go through it with me?"

"Cheh, yes, might as well. I hope it's not too scary."

"I'll protect you," England said sweetly, at the same time that Veneziano said "Ve, England will protect you," in a much darker tone.

All these reassurances made Romano a little nervous, but they finished their sodas and walked into the haunted house, first Germany and Veneziano, then the other two.

As soon as they were in the dark, Romano grabbed England's arm, and then slid his hand down to lace their fingers together. Surprisingly, England let go, but it was only to switch hands, so that he could put his arm around his friend, hand nestled on his hip, and walk behind him. "I can protect you better this way," he laughed in a low voice.

"Mm, I trust you," Romano replied, not entirely truthfully. They walked on a little further. Romano jumped at the sight of the weirdly-illuminated faux gravestones, the dry-ice fog, hearing others murmuring ahead of them. He squeezed England's hand tightly.

"Don't _worry. _It's all fake, remember?_"_

"Yeah, I know, but – gah!" Romano yelled, as a skeleton swung down out of the ceiling in front of them.

England kept the firm, protective grip around him. "I've got you, Romano, it's all right." Romano stood still for a moment, eyes closed, feeling the warm support of his friend behind him. He had to man up. It was just a haunted house! It's all fake! In a moment he felt braver, and walked on. The low, minor-key music was still quite creepy, though.

They passed a darker alcove. England quickly drew Romano into the deeper shadows. "I'm still really turned on from that shooting game," he whispered, and slowly, teasingly, slid his fingertips up under Romano's shirt. The brunet shivered a little and pressed against him, palms against his friend's chest, not yet kissing, resting their foreheads together.

"I wonder what would happen if we both got like that at the same time," he wondered breathlessly.

"Bloody hell, we'd probably burn the place down." England kissed him. "We should try it sometime."

"Nh, yes…"

They played in the dark for a few arousing minutes, before Romano recollected that his brother and the potato bastard would be waiting for them at the exit. "Hey."

"Mm, hey, what," England gasped, trying to slide his hand down the front of Romano's jeans. "Come on, come closer."

"No, listen." He pushed the island nation's hand away weakly. "Those bastards will be waiting." Romano leaned his head on England's shoulder, whispering into his ear. "I, I would love to stay here and fool around with you, but…I don't want a bunch of shit from them, if we take too long…"

"The way I feel right now, it won't take long at all, you demon. Come on, touch me…or let me touch you_…_" He finally managed to unzip Romano's pants. "Ah, yeah…"

"No, stop, bastard." Romano moaned as he felt the blond's heated touch on his skin. "Seriously…" He managed to back away, clenching his teeth and fists, but then bumped into a wall behind him and shivered with a little frisson of fear. "Dammit, come on, let's get out of this creepy place," he hissed. He fixed his jeans and eased away from England a little further.

"Damn it, Romano. You – you – " The island nation took a few deep breaths. "Bollocks_. _ You're probably right...just, how the hell do you stay so sodding reasonable?" They stood in the darkness for a moment, slowly readjusting themselves, regaining composure, and then made their way to the exit, not noticing the scary things, not touching or conversing, because each was too preoccupied with his own thoughts.

Outside, there was a prizewinning absence of Veneziano and Germany.

"Dammit." Romano was pissed. (So was England, but for a different reason. He snorted.) "What are you laughing at, bastard? Where did they go?" He looked down the pathway to see if they'd moved on, but he couldn't spot them.

"You'll see. They'll be back, just wait." Romano did see, several minutes later, when the potato bastard stumbled out of the haunted house red-faced, with his usually-precise hair all mussed; Veneziano, stretching lazily, had a smug and satisfied grin on his face. England started snickering – rather nastily – and Romano turned away.

"You owe me," the island nation hissed in his ear, displeased. "Big time."

…

While they wandered around, discussing various attractions, Romano began to get nervous about his friend. England was not paying any attention to him at all, but instead chatting with the other two; was not looking at him at all, but instead gazing around the park. He wasn't even walking near him! What the hell?

"Hey, bastard," he said, reaching out to grab his sleeve.

"Hmm?" was the idle response. "Don't stretch out my sweater."

Huh. Romano ignored that for now. "You all right?"

"Yeah."

Well, that was not reassuring. Romano looked around for some kind of conversational icebreaker and saw an interesting ride ahead. "Hey, bastards, want to ride on this?" He had no idea what it was, but it might prove effective in breaking through whatever England's deal was.

"The Himalaya!" Germany exclaimed. "I haven't ridden on one of these in years. Yes, I'm happy to ride this, Romano." He smiled down at Veneziano. "I think you might like it too."

Veneziano had lost his badass demeanor and reverted to his usual good-natured attitude. "Ve, whatever you say, Germany! Let's ride!"

England was still staring off into space. Romano elbowed him.

"Uh – hey, bastard, are you going to ride this?"

"Might as well. Come on, let's get in line."

Germany explained about the Himalaya ride while they waited in the line. "You see that the cars are connected to the hub by spokes. The ride simply goes around in a circle, spinning around the center hub very quickly, and also, the flat surface that the cars ride upon will wobble, like a fallen plate. Riders get pushed outward by the centrifugal force. So you should put the lighter person on the inside, or the weaker person."

"Cheh, I'll go on the inside," Romano sighed.

"No, I will. You take the outside. I don't want you crushing me, git."

"What the hell, so I have to suffer with you crushing me?"

"I'm taking the inside," England said stubbornly. Germany and Veneziano gave each other a confused look.

They boarded the ride. Veneziano took the inside in their seat, and England was inside next to Romano in the seat behind them. When the ride started up, Romano instantly understood what Germany had meant; the circular ride's force was flinging him sideways and outward against the edge of the booth-style seat. He looked forward with irritation to see his brother squashed up against the potato bastard, squealing in glee, arms in the air.

By contrast, England was hugging the seat bar and the opposite side of the booth fiercely, trying not to let himself slide up against Romano.

"What the hell are you doing, bastard?" he yelled above the noise.

"Just shut up. I'm trying to see if I can finish the ride without crushing you_._"

Romano put his head down on the seat bar, rolling his eyes. How idiotic.

…

"Let's get something to eat, please," Germany begged. "It's a long time since we had breakfast."

England agreed, since he'd had the least breakfast.

They found an actual sit-down restaurant area and settled in. The prices were fairly high, but on the positive side, they could have some peace and quiet, as well as probably eating a higher quality of food. "Hey, pastaaaa!" Veneziano yelled, reading the menu. "They have pasta at a Japanese park?"

"Must be due to your influence on Japan," Germany said cheerfully.

Both the others scoffed at this. "I used to be friendly with Japan," England pointed out, "and I don't see any English food on the menu."

The others all politely refrained from comment.

"Wankers."

When the food came both England and Germany watched with interest to see if the pasta passed muster.

For Romano, it did not. "This is sucky pasta," he grumbled, _sotto voce_. "Overcooked, and not enough tomatoes in the sauce."

Veneziano tasted it. "Ve. I agree, Romano. I was going to say something nice about it, since it is in Japan's house, but…I can't."

"Will you be able to eat it?" Germany wondered. "Do you want to order something else?"

"You can share my lunch," England offered.

"And mine as well." Germany pushed his plate to the center of the table.

"Thanks, bastards, but I can deal with this for now. Keep your lunch."

"Me, too, ve. We'll just have to get some ice cream for dessert, to take away the taste!"

The rest of the meal passed mostly in silence, as the two Italies manfully ate the pseudo-pasta.

…

_I love badass!Feli. _


	40. Amusement Park, Chapter 4

**Amusement Park, Chapter 4.**

"Anybody want to go on the Death Drop?" England looked a bit crazy again, eyes wide, though he wasn't laughing yet. "These things are awesome." He stared up at the vertical coaster with a focused, intent look on his face. "Last time I was on one was in America. It wasn't as high as this one, but it was pretty wicked."

Romano took a step backwards, and Veneziano looked at the island nation doubtfully. Neither of them spoke.

"What, you guys are seriously not interested? It's a pretty short ride." Still no takers. "Damn. Well, I guess I can go by myself." This with an arch, fake-sad look, as though he was fishing for a companion.

He gave up. "Okay. I'll meet you here in, what, an hour? That line's pretty long."

"I'll go with you, England," Germany finally said. "Perhaps the Italies would like to spend some brother time together." He handed his cap to Veneziano to hold, so it wouldn't fall off during the ride and get lost.

"Cool, let's go. See you guys!" The blonds moved off, leaving the brothers staring after them.

Finally Veneziano managed to say something, putting on Germany's cap to keep it safe. "Ve, that ride looks like a death drop, all right."

"Dammit. I had no idea he was into those thrill rides. If he's going to be on them all day, we won't be able to spend any time together at all!" But upon reflection, he really shouldn't have been surprised that England liked those kinds of rides.

"I think it's wonderful that you and England are spending time together, fratello. But you don't act very affectionate together. It makes me a little sad. Love is meant to be shared!"

Romano growled. "Come on, let's go look at the souvenir shop or something. And – and just because we don't act affectionate in public doesn't mean we're distant in – in private, idiot." He blushed a little, hands shoved into pockets, as they walked off together. "Not everybody has to be a romantic showoff like you. We – we're all right together, no matter how it looks to you."

"Well, as long as you're happy. I'm just glad you have such a good friend. I like England now, ve, but he was super scary in the war time!"

"We all did what we thought we had to do," Romano sighed. "Luckily things change."

Veneziano nodded in agreement.

England had continued to act a little distant towards him after the disastrous pasta lunch. Romano wasn't really worried. They went into the shop together and Veneziano immediately began exclaiming over the stuffed animals and other knickknacks available for sale.

Romano idly wandered around the store, not really looking for anything in particular, just killing time. He looked at the displays, the other customers, waiting for something to catch his interest. Suddenly Veneziano was waving a fluffy stuffed lion in his face. "Look at this!"

"Ugh, that's creepy. Are you going to buy that? Make sure you keep it at your house! I don't want to see it again, bastard!" The thing had a disturbingly evil stare.

"I don't know; I thought of buying it for Germany, but maybe it's not such a good idea, ve. What are you going to get for England?"

"I, I wasn't planning to get him anything, dammit!"

"But you should! Something to make him remember today. Since he's on the ride, he won't have any time in the shop."

"Something little, maybe. Not too sappy."

"How about a key chain? Then he could put it on his keys and think of us every time he goes somewhere."

"Why would he want to think about you, you idiot? Argh, whatever. Let's see what they have." The two of them looked through the key chains for a while, looking for something suitable.

"Hey, look, here's a cute little Doberman puppy keychain!"

Romano took it and looked at it. "Well, it's cuter than that stupid stuffed animal you were waving around, but…I don't know, it's still kind of bizarre. What else is there?" He rummaged around a little more. "Hey, check this one out! It's perfect." He held it up for his brother's inspection.

"Ve, Romano, I'm not so sure about that one…it really doesn't have anything to do with Japan, or amusement parks…"

"Well, neither do the damn stuffed animals, idiot! I'm getting this for him, and that's it. I know he'll like it because it will remind him of me. Even if it doesn't remind him of the amusement park." He shoved his way through store patrons to the checkout; Veneziano followed, intending to buy the Doberman keychain for Germany.

…

Germany and England finally approached the front of the line for the Death Drop. "How does this thing work again?" Germany asked, slightly nervously. He had been watching the ride proceed, but apparently still didn't understand how the mechanical aspect worked.

"It's like a roller coaster, sort of. The cars are the same type. You get in; the cars are pulled up, just like on a regular roller coaster, except that you go straight up on the vertical. When the first seats reach the top of the, the pillar thing, the entire row of seats is released to free-fall back down to the ground. So you're falling backwards and down. There are no brakes; the track curves at the bottom to slow it down enough to stop. Ha, this is going to be great! Thanks for coming with me, old chap." England stood happily staring up at the top of the ascent.

"N-no problem," the taller blond replied, his jitters unnoticed by his companion.

They got seated near the center of the line of cars, and then the ride began its slow rise into the sky. It was rather disconcerting to be lying on one's back, out in the open, oh so slowly ratcheting into the air. England started to feel a bit nervous. This was as bad as rocking at the top of the Ferris wheel! No, this was _worse._ He couldn't see the ground, or any point of reference, just clouds, and the other riders. The one in America hadn't been this disturbing, had it? He looked hesitantly over at Germany…

…who was smiling and looking around eagerly. "This isn't bad at all," he said cheerfully. "I thought it was going to be a lot more nerve-wracking." He peered over the edge curiously. "I wonder if we can see the Italies from up here."

England didn't – couldn't – speak, and he certainly couldn't look down. He just held the bar in a death grip and tried to force his teeth not to chatter. Germany continued making small talk all the way up, seemingly unaware of his companion's anxiety.

Finally they reached the top of the ride. "Hang on," England cautioned through gritted teeth. Germany merely relaxed and looked over at the island nation curiously, and then the cars dropped.

"Woohoo!" England screamed in excitement, waving his arms in the sky, hair flying every which way…while Germany blanched and grabbed the seat bar in silent panic, oblivious to his own hair's new disarray. England continued screaming and laughing joyously all the way down to the stop.

For a ride with such a long wait, the Death Drop was disappointingly short to ride on. Within two minutes, they had disembarked and started tottering unsteadily back to where they'd left the brothers. "Bloody hell, that was awesome_,_" England laughed, leaning a hand against Germany's back. The taller blond was still unable to speak, but managed a short bark of laughter as he tried to smooth his hair back into place.

Veneziano and Romano came running over to them. "Dammit, bastard! What the hell happened?" Romano took England by the upper arm in concern, while Veneziano hugged his boyfriend around the waist.

"That was an excellent ride," England laughed. "You should have – no, never mind. You would have hated it." He pulled his arm out of Romano's grasp, but not violently, and leaned on his shoulder for support, panting a little in recovery.

"Ve, did you like it, Germany?"

"It was a very interesting ride, which I will never forget." He clenched his teeth and looked away, putting his cap back on.

England laughed at him. "You did all right. At least now you can say you did it, yeah? Tell your brother about it. He'll be extremely jealous."

"That's so." He and Veneziano walked ahead a little bit, Germany still quite unsteady, leaning on his smaller friend.

"He was scared?" Romano whispered to his friend.

"We were both a little scared," England admitted quietly, not wanting to show up Germany in front of Veneziano, "but it was all right after we started falling."

"Are you all right, though? You're wobbling!"

"I am? Huh."

"Here, hang onto me, I'll help you out." England raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Thanks, git."

"Anytime, bastard." They moved off towards their friends happily.

"So what did you two do while we were up there?"

"Ah, just – just kicked around a little. People-watched."

"I wouldn't mind a little people-watching myself. Maybe a little later." England overdid the clinging, rubbing his cheek against Romano's shoulder in a mischievous Veneziano fashion. His friend suddenly shoved him upright.

"You can walk okay now, dammit."

Sigh. "Yes."

They caught up to the others and found that Germany had suggested the sky ride, which was like a low, horizontal chair lift that would carry patrons from one side of the park to the other. "If we ride the sky ride we'll get to the other side of the park, where the games arcades are, and some of the other smaller rides."

"Sounds fine to me, bastard." They looked overhead at the serenely-moving sky ride cars, and everyone felt comfortable with the idea of a slow seated ride across the park.

"Two people per chair, please," the attendant said when they reached the front of the line. Romano was relieved. He wanted some alone time talking with his friend, without the potato bastard eavesdropping. Or his idiot brother!

They let the other two get into the first car. "Whew, it's nice to sit down," England admitted, when they were seated. "I still feel a little wobbly."

Romano took his hand. "So what was so scary about that ride? I guess falling like that can be frightening. It was pretty fucking high, higher even than the Ferris wheel."

"It wasn't the falling, Romano! That was really fun. It was the climbing up part. It – it was impossible to see anything other than the sky, and – and Germany, and it made me really nervous."

"Cheh, I can understand that_._" He snorted.

They rode without speaking for another minute, holding hands on the seat. "Seriously, though, you're OK, bastard?" His gaze was concerned.

"I will be. Thanks." England squeezed his friend's hand and gave him the sweet smile.

…

"Italy!"

"Ve, what is it, Germany?"

"A water ride! Oh, I would like very much to go on a water ride. Will you go on a water ride with me?"

"I'd like that. I have never been on one of these water rides. Will you two come with us?"

England and Romano looked at each other. "Maybe we'll just wait here and rest," England finally said.

"Y-yeah. You guys go. We'll be on this bench. Come find us when you're done."

Romano had picked a fairly secluded bench under the trees. As soon as he realized this, he wondered whether his friend would be getting his hopes up again. Wondered what he would do, if England _did_ get his hopes up. He was kind of feeling a little agitated, almost as if he too wouldn't mind a little of the public stuff. Just a little.

"Hey," the island nation said.

"Uh, what?"

"Thanks for resting here with me. I'm not in the mood for a water ride."

"Cheh, I just didn't want my silk jacket to get ruined. Or your sweater." He looked over at England. "Do you – would you mind if I rested my head on your shoulder for a little while?"

The blond looked surprised. "No, of course not." He scooted a little closer to Romano and put his arm on the back of the bench behind him, sort of embracing, but sort of not. Romano sighed and relaxed against his friend. "Getting tired?"

"Nh, not really. Just want to relax a little, without those bastards watching."

"Yeah." They sat quietly for a minute.

"So, I've been thinking," Romano finally murmured, in a low tone, in the blond's ear.

After a minute, wherein he seemed to have stalled, England prompted, "Yes? What have you been thinking about?"

"About tonight," he said, in an even lower voice.

Another pause.

"I've been thinking about tonight, too…What have you been thinking?" England made his voice lower and more intimate, turning his head to nuzzle Romano's hair just a little.

"Nh…just wondering if we should stop anywhere on the way back to the hotel."

"What do you mean, git? Like a, a massage parlor?" England seemed truly baffled.

"Don't be stupid, bastard," he continued softly. "I meant to buy stuff for later. You know."

"Oh."

Yet another pause.

"So do you think we should?"

"Well, I actually have two concerns here," England stated matter-of-factly. This tone of voice worried Romano, but he stayed relaxed against his friend's shoulder. It was pretty comfortable, and the sweater felt nice against his cheek.

"And these concerns are –?"

"One is, why do we need to get anything_?_ Isn't it all right when it's just us?" He grinned and so did Romano.

"Mm, yeah, a valid point…and the other concern?"

"How are we going to stop off and buy things without your brother and Germany seeing?" England started laughing, and Romano sat bolt upright.

"Shit. I hadn't thought of that, bastard. That's a very good point."

"You don't want to give them any ideas, do you?"

"Dammit! Although after that laser tag business, I don't think I could possibly put an idea in my brother's head that wasn't already there. That was pretty fucking bizarre."

"Speaking of the laser tag…" England reached over to pull Romano close again and managed to swirl his tongue around the brunet's ear before Romano's blush drove him into anger.

"Chigi! Why do you keep trying to fool me into these situations?" He pulled away.

"Fool you? I thought I was being pretty bloody obvious." England crossed his arms and his legs and shifted in his seat. "Anyway, you started it. All that talk about _stuff._"

Romano didn't speak for a minute, still angry. Then he settled down to accept the truth of that last statement. "I can't help it," he offered. "I want to be close to you, too, but…I hate looking like an idiot in public!" He looked down at his fingers twisting together in his lap.

"I know you do. Don't worry about it. We'll have time." Just as England put his arm around Romano's shoulders again, Veneziano and Germany reappeared. They were fairly wet, and looked very happy.

"Hey, did you enjoy it?" England asked.

"It was quite exhilarating. Italy got very wet!"

"Ve," said the younger, simply, happily. "But it was fun. Let's go see what else we can find."

…

"Ooh!"

"Ooh what, idiot?"

"Ooh, there's a Tunnel of Love!"

All three of Veneziano's companions started blushing madly. "I am not going to go on the Tunnel of – of Love, dammit," Romano barked immediately, turning away.

England didn't say a word, just looked at Romano, then at the ground, shyly.

Germany caved first. "I'll go through the Tunnel of – of – I'll go through it with you, if you like, Italy." He looked off into the distance.

"Ve, but we have to all go! Don't worry! No one will see; it's all dark, right?"

England and Romano continued to blush without speaking, without looking at anyone, Romano grinding his hand into his face. "I – I don't know," the island nation finally stammered, still looking at the ground.

Romano looked at him hesitantly through his fingers. Maybe they could – could be close, in the boat? England looked up, caught his eye, and seemed to read his mind, giving a tiny, tiny smile that only Romano could read.

"Come on, you two; don't let me and Germany have all the fun, ve!"

"Might as well, you idiot, or you'll never shut up about it."

"Sure, since you ask so nicely," England shrugged.

"Yay! Tunnel of Love, here we come!"

"_Chigi!_ Stop yelling about it!" Romano walked the rest of the way fuming, looking determinedly down at the ground, but he did go.

There was a surprising lack of people in line for the Tunnel, and when they reached the front of the line, they discovered why. Romano had planned to sit in the second boat with England, letting the potato bastard and his brother do – whatever they planned to do – in the boat ahead, but the attendant informed them that all boats must be completely filled before departing. Since each boat held four people, that meant they'd all have to ride in the _same damn boat_!

"No, thanks! Absolutely not, dammit!" he muttered, mindful of the other patrons.

But both England (subtly) and Veneziano (more obviously) got sad looks on their faces. Only Germany seemed in agreement with Romano, and that was unacceptable. "All right." He rapidly changed his mind. "You bastards sit in the front."

"No, Romano. You and England sit in the front, ve. You're always lurking around behind us and I don't like that!"

So he and England had to sit together in the front of the boat. Romano still wouldn't look at anyone as they seated themselves. When they'd gotten situated, England tried to locate Romano's ear in the dark. "Hey, _now_ you can kiss me," he murmured, as he snuggled up close.

"Nn, no. I can't. Not with those bastards behind us." He rubbed his hand over his face a few times to calm down.

England tried again. "Oh, for crying out loud, Romano. It's totally dark, and you got me all turned on talking about getting stuff for tonight!" England took his hand and laced their fingers together. "Come on, just a little bit? Please? You know you like it…" They could hear quiet murmurs from the other two behind them. Romano pulled away a little.

"No, bastard, because it's going to get you all pissed off when we can't – can't go any further." This was a stab in the dark, but it seemed Romano had guessed right. He felt England's cool hand withdraw from his, and felt the subtle change in air as their bodies moved apart. He hissed, "And I categorically refuse to try and give you – get you – hell, you know what I mean, not when we're all actually in the same fucking boat!"

England burst into loud, delighted laughter, startling the other three boat occupants and probably the occupants of some other boats, too. "Oh, Romano, you're perfect," he murmured into his friend's ear, hugging him tightly, rubbing his cheek against his hair. "It makes me so happy just to laugh with you."

"Chigi," Romano replied, but his heart wasn't in it; he smiled in the dark, and took his friend's hand again.

…

"Have you ever ridden a troika ride?" Germany asked them, after they'd exited the Tunnel of Love. Surprisingly, it didn't seem like the potato bastard had been – up to– anything with his brother in the boat. Romano was on the one hand relieved, but on the other, slightly disturbed – why wasn't the bastard being nice to Veneziano? Had they had a fight? But really, he was rather glad he didn't have to think about the bastards doing anything in the same boat with him!

He was distracted from these musings by England, who was surreptitiously trying to grab his hand. As if he wouldn't have noticed! Romano moved out of reach and received a smirk in return. He turned away.

"Hello?" Germany asked shortly, when no one had responded to his troika question.

"Sorry. What's a troika ride, bastard?"

They were all treated to an in-depth, accurate, technical explanation of the troika ride.

"Ve, sounds pretty fun, Germany! Let's go!"

So they all rode the troika ride. Germany seemed to be loosening up a little, and actually whooped a few times on the ride, waving his arms in the air. Romano found himself relaxing more, although he still wasn't about to be comfortable with the macho potato around. Still, it was kind of funny to see him yelling like a little kid. He and Veneziano still seemed to be having a lot of fun together, so probably nothing had been wrong in the boat. Probably. Romano planned to have a serious talk with the potato bastard if he'd done anything to piss off his fratello.

…

"Ve, why don't we get some snacks and relax for a while? My feet are starting to hurt."

"Good idea. I want to do some people-watching. Dammit, this place is packed."

"Why don't the two of you find us a place to sit and rest? England and I will get the snacks. What would you like?"

"Ice cream!"

"Yeah, ice cream sounds good. Chocolate, bastard, not vanilla." He poked his friend's side.

"I know, I know." England poked him back. "Think I'm stupid? We've been eating ice cream together for a long time."

"Cheh, just shut up and go get the ice cream, dammit!" Romano covered his face to hide his blush.

As the two blonds moved away to the snack stand, Veneziano peered at his brother in concern. "Are you all right, fratello? Getting tired?"

"I'm fine," Romano, astonished, replied. "Why the hell are you asking, idiot?" They walked towards an unoccupied table with an umbrella.

His brother shrugged. "You just seem a little tense. Maybe you need to raise your blood sugar?"

"Which is exactly why I'm going to eat ice cream, you dumbass!" He blew out a breath and leaned back in the chair he'd chosen. "Sorry. You really don't need to worry, Veneziano. I'm fine, England's fine, everything is fine." Then he spent another quiet moment, mostly trying to avoid Veneziano's intense stare. "Is everything okay with you and the potato bastard?" he mumbled.

"Yes, ve…although he was too uptight to kiss me in the boat!"

Romano was quite relieved by this, until he realized that he had been behaving the exact same way. "Dammit."

Veneziano misunderstood. "It's all right, I'll get him back for it later," he laughed.

The others came back with ice cream for all, and some Japanese cookies to try. They were surprisingly delicious, and Germany went back for more when the first batch had vanished.

"This is so nice," England offered, when they were all seated again. "Thank you both for inviting us to join you in Japan. I'm having a really fun day!" He gave Romano a very sweet smile.

Romano stared at him in disbelief.

The blond recoiled from the shocked glare. "What? Aren't you?"

"I – uh, well, of course I am, bastard, dammit," he said in confusion, putting his head on the table to conceal his blush.

"Well, that's good then, Romano, ve! We're all having a good time, aren't we, Germany?"

"I always enjoy time spent with you, Italy," was the somewhat noncommittal response, as Germany looked away, apparently absorbed by the crowds milling about.

…

"Well, I certainly feel much more energetic after all of that sugar," England laughed. "What should we do now? Another shooting game? Ha ha."

"No!" barked both Germany and Romano. Veneziano began his mad cackling again.

"All right, fine…how about…oh, I don't know. Romano, you pick something. You haven't chosen anything for a while."

"I chose the ice cream!"

"No, I chose the ice cream, ve. Go ahead, Romano, pick something." They opened up the map and looked at all the little icons.

"What's this? Ghost train?" Germany said, pointing to a little corner of the map near where they were currently standing.

"Ghost train?" Romano didn't like the sound of that.

"Ah, they're not that bad. It's basically like riding a train through a haunted house, or some kind of themed train ride in the dark."

"Ve, we love the haunted houses, don't we, Germany?"

Germany blushed and looked away. So did the other two.

"I think maybe we should skip the ghost train," England finally offered in a weak voice, not looking at Romano.

"I think maybe you're right," the brunet answered.

"Why don't we walk around the park and see what catches our eye, instead of looking at the map?" Germany suggested. "Romano might see something else he'd like to do."

"That works, bastard. Come on, let's walk."


	41. Amusement Park, Chapter 5

**Amusement Park, Chapter 5.**

"Bumper cars!" Romano yelled. "Let's ride the bumper cars!" He pointed eagerly towards the entrance. There weren't many people in line.

"Ve, are you sure? You remember what happened that one time?"

"Yeah, yeah, I remember. Forget it. That was a long time ago. Come on, come on_._" Romano was practically jumping up and down with excitement, trying to grab his brother's arm, but Veneziano dodged him and stood clinging to Germany as if for protection.

"Why, what happened?" England asked, poking Romano in the arm, smiling. "Accident? How can you have an accident in bumper cars?"

"Not an accident per se," Veneziano answered pensively, "more like an incident, or —"

"Shut up about it, fratello," his brother growled. "There's no need at all for them to know about that, dammit. Let's just go ride them."

"If we are to be placing ourselves in danger on a bumper car floor with you, Romano, I think there most certainly is a need for all of us to know. Veneziano?"

"Listen, you uptight potato bastard, it was nothing! My brother is making a bigger deal of this than it really was."

"Come on, tell us what it was, wanker." This with a bigger grin than before.

"Chigi! No."

"Then maybe we shouldn't do bumper cars," Germany announced.

"Argh." Romano scrubbed his hands through his hair, but then took a moment to fix it again.

"No, come on, I'll ride them with you, even if they don't want to. Let's go." England grabbed Romano by the hand, still grinning, and started dragging him to the entrance.

"Bastard, why? I mean, I'm glad you'll do it, but…?"

"Because it will make you happy, you brainless git. Come on. Nobody should have to skip the bumper cars just because his friends are too scared." They ran happily the rest of the way to the entrance, still holding hands, like little kids escaping from their babysitters.

"Ve…" This in a very dubious tone as the other two watched them run off. "I'm glad England is willing to take this risk with my brother, but…"

"Will you enlighten me as to the incident?"

After considering a moment, Veneziano decided against it. "Romano really didn't want me to tell, so I won't. I'm sorry, Germany. He can tell you himself if he wants to, but I won't." They walked to the bumper car floor to watch.

Germany crossed his arms and stood frowning down with his legs spread a little, a stance that usually put the fear of God into the small Italian. It did not work this time. Veneziano merely leaned against the fence to watch them ride the cars. Eventually Germany gave up and joined him with a sigh.

As it turned out, both the nations were far more skilled (and a lot louder) than the other, mostly younger, bumper car drivers. England wailed like a banshee as he chased his friend around the floor, spinning, repeatedly bumping Romano's car from every angle, with his maniacal laughter ringing through the building. By contrast, Romano tended towards the long-approach, aggressive single bump complete with growling and snarling, and then loud yells of glee at the completion of a successful violent attack, sometimes actually standing up in the car to exult. Other drivers were cautiously edging out of the way of their focused paths, leaving a mostly-cleared space in the center of the room for the two of them to bash and batter each other's car. At the end of the time limit, the attendant called three times to get their attention, and even then they didn't listen. The other drivers quickly and cautiously exited the bumper car floor and the attendant finally had to turn off all the power to the ride to get them to stop.

"Oh."

"It's over already? Bastards!"

"Come on, let's blow." They got out of the cars, laughing, and stumbled towards the exit, arms around each other's shoulders, trying to escape before the angry attendant could berate them.

"You two are banned from this ride, do you hear me?" she yelled at their retreating backs. "Banned! I'm putting up a notice right now!" They let go of each other and legged it in earnest, still laughing, with Germany and Veneziano falling into stride behind them.

"You're the best, bastard," Romano wheezed when they were out of range of the attendant. He stopped and bent forward with his hands on his knees, recovering. "Thanks."

"Anything to make you happy, wanker."

"Ve, Romano! Now you're banned from _three_—"

"Shut up, dammit."

"All right, fratello, whatever you say. You had fun, though!"

"Hell, yes, we had fun. Let's get something to drink." Romano grabbed England's hand and roughly pulled him towards the refreshment stands.

…

"Er –" England's voice was a bit hesitant.

"Let me guess, you want to go on another crazy death ride, right, bastard?"

"Not a crazy one! Just a plain old wooden roller coaster, look." He pointed to it. It did look a lot less scary than the Death Drop, or some of the other steel coasters they'd avoided today, but Romano still wasn't sure about it.

"I like those classic ones, ve. They're pretty tame. Will you go on it, Germany?"

"I don't mind. I used to ride them a lot. It's true they're not nearly as scary as the steel ones."

Everyone tried to avoid staring at Romano while they waited for his answer, but everyone failed.

"Stop staring, dammit. I – I'm not sure yet. I've never been on a roller coaster." He eyed it nervously.

"Let me talk to him," England said to the other two, and dragged his friend away from them.

"What are you going to do, bastard, threaten me?" Romano asked with a frown.

"What? I was just going to tell you that it would be fun, they're not scary, they're like fast car rides. And I wouldn't let you get scared, I'd be right there with you. Bloody hell, sometimes you make me want to – kick you."

Romano, who had looked like he was beginning to soften up, snapped back, "So you are going to threaten me!"

"Shut it, git. Do whatever you want. I'm going on the coaster with those guys. You can sit here all alone, see if I care." England stormed back to the others. "Come on, let's go. Romano's being a big girl's blouse."

Veneziano pursed his lips, thinking. "Ve, let me talk to him." He walked over to his furious brother and said a few words. The blonds saw Romano shake his head. Veneziano argued a little more forcefully, making wild gestures with his hands. Romano looked away and blushed, visible even at this distance. Finally the younger said something with a winning smile, slapped his brother on the shoulder, and made as if to turn away. Romano put a hand out and grabbed Veneziano's arm with a curt nod.

They came back to the others. "It's all set, ve; Romano will be brave and ride the coaster with us!" England gave Romano a questioning look, but the brunet wouldn't meet his eyes.

"Come on, bastard," he growled, and pushed his friend into line.

"What the hell did he say to you?" England wondered, but Romano just shook his head.

They inched towards the front of the line; this was a very popular ride. Veneziano chattered happily to Germany and England, although the island nation kept turning to give Romano quizzical looks.

"Hey," Romano finally muttered, turning his back to his brother and the potato bastard, so they couldn't see him talking. "Sorry." He put his hands on his hips and looked away, then back at his friend.

England raised an eyebrow, distracting him a moment. "What are you sorry for now, git? There's so much to choose from."

"Dammit, shut the hell up." He turned away again, actually growling under his breath. "I was just trying to – to – argh; forget I said anything, you argumentative bastard."

"Well, this is turning out to be another top-class discussion, I must say."

"I said shut up_."_

"Make me."

Romano punched him.

"Ow, well, that hurts, but it's not going to make me shut up," the blond teased.

"What's it going to take, then, you son of a bitch?"

"You'll have to forcibly shut my mouth."

They looked at each other and burst into laughter, leaning against the railing together. Veneziano, who had been trying desperately not to appear an eavesdropper, looked away quickly.

"Ve, those two have a really weird relationship," they heard him whisper to Germany, which just made them laugh a little more, and after that, Romano leaned comfortably against his friend's shoulder as they continued moving to the front of the line.

…

"That was so fucking amazing!" Romano was really excited. "Let's do it again!" He'd never dared to ride a roller coaster before, and while he would never do something as crazy as the Death Drop, this roller coaster had been great fun. "Come on, let's go again." He grabbed England by the arm.

"I want to do some other things, though," Veneziano pouted. "Let's do this one again on the way out, instead."

"No, no, we're right here, so we should just do it again now, dammit."

"Ach, I think I need something calmer," Germany said. "Like an arcade or something."

"Ve, yes! We can play skeeball!"

Romano's eyes lit up. "All right, I'll play skeeball, if we can go on the roller coaster again before we leave. Deal?"

"Deal," Germany offered quickly, surprising everyone.

"Wait, wait, wait just a bloody minute," England finally managed to say. "What the hell is skeeball?"

The other three stared at him.

"You've got to be kidding me, bastard."

"Er – no? Never heard of it."

"Well, come on, then, England, and we'll show you, ve! Where is the arcade, Germany?"

Germany located the arcade on the map and they headed in that direction. On the way, they stopped for some candyfloss.

"My teeth are going to fall out," Germany sighed happily, peeling off large fluffy chunks of candy with his teeth and snapping them up like a dog with a treat.

"Yet we notice you keep eating the sugary stuff, bastard!" Romano was trying to capture little pieces with his tongue and lick them off the stick, sort of like eating ice cream.

Veneziano pulled little tufts of floss off his stick with his fingers and ate them discreetly. "Germany doesn't need to worry. He has the strongest, whitest teeth ever. Except maybe for Prussia." Everyone snorted at that.

England had squashed the whole stick of candyfloss back into a firm ball and then devoured it like an apple. "So tell me about skeeball."

For some reason Romano didn't offer to tell; he just stood there, hands twitching a little, fighting a smirk. England stepped away from him nervously while the other two tried to explain skeeball to him.

"How hard can that be?" the island nation finally asked. Romano replied with nothing more than a slow, intent grin.

They reached the arcade just as Veneziano finished the last of his candyfloss. Romano led them eagerly to the skeeball ramps. "Let's go, bastards." He spared a minute to get England set up at his own little ramp and then moved to start playing at his own.

Yes, Romano was in fine form today; he had always been a skeeball demon, and started racking up high scores almost immediately, shouting and jumping up and down, exuberant. "Check it out, bastards! Beat that!" Other people in the arcade actually stopped what they were doing to watch him.

Germany was competent, but didn't show the flair that Romano did. He played in silence, fiercely concentrating with a deep frown on his face. Every now and then he let out a grunt, or did a head slap, when something didn't go as planned.

Veneziano and England were both total failures. "Bollocks! How hard can this be?" England yelled, whipping the balls too hard up the ramp in increasing anger. Veneziano had the opposite problem; his throws were too weak to score much.

"Can we take a break, please, ve?"

"I agree," England snarled. Germany and Romano ignored them and kept playing, so they took a break and watched Romano jump around for a while.

At the end of the session, Germany had scored a lot of tickets, but Romano had scored a lot more, enough for a big black stuffed dragon. The other two looked sadly at their pathetic collection of pooled tickets, not even enough for a candy bar.

"Ve, England, I guess we need more practice." The younger Italy pouted artificially, avoiding his boyfriend's eye.

Germany sighed and gave all his tickets to Veneziano, who cheered and redeemed them for a little stuffed kitty. "Kitty, kitty, kitty…"

"Bloody hell, I just don't get it."

"Heh, aggression doesn't always make up for lack of skill, bastard."

"Shut it, git. You know I have aggression and skill."

Romano blushed and stalked right out of the arcade, hugging his dragon.

…

Outside, the weather was getting cooler as evening approached. "Do we want to have dinner here, or outside the park?" Veneziano wondered.

"Outside the park," both Germany and England agreed. Romano was still not talking to anyone, staring irritably down at his boots, clutching the dragon close to his chest.

"Ve, then we should probably go for Romano's last roller coaster ride, yes?"

"Yes, dammit. Let's go." He strode off in the wrong direction and England ran after him, grabbing his arm.

"Hey."

"Get off, bastard."

"You're walking the wrong way, git! It's over this way." He jerked his head toward the roller coaster. "Come on. Relax a little. Or do you want to skip the roller coaster?"

"Of course not. Come on." He grabbed England's arm and pulled him back to the others. "Sorry. Got confused."

"Ve, that's all right, fratello. It's been a long day. Let's go get in line."

As they settled into the roller coaster seats behind the others, Romano grabbed and squeezed England's hand, and received a wry smile in return. Huh, he guessed his friend wasn't too mad, then, even though the day had been full of crazy ups and downs. He let go and gripped the seat bar as the cars moved off, squeezing his dragon between his knees for security.

…

"Hey, thanks, everybody. I appreciate that you let me ride it again." Veneziano stepped forward and felt Romano's forehead in concern. Romano knocked his hand away with a short laugh. "Knock it off, idiot, I'm fine."

"Are we ready to leave?" Germany wondered. Nobody objected, so the four headed towards the exit.

Just then some fireworks exploded above them. "Veeee~, look!" Veneziano started jumping up and down in excitement.

"Would you like to sit and watch the fireworks, Italy?" Germany's voice was indulgent, maybe only tired; Veneziano happily nodded. The four of them found a bench and sat, with Romano making sure to sit on the end of the bench, flanked by England, so he'd be as far from the potato bastard as possible. He squeezed his dragon mercilessly.

For a while, nobody spoke, other than the oohing and aahing over the fireworks. Romano relaxed his grip on the dragon and looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye. England was staring up into the sky with a distant, almost sad gaze. Were those tears in his eyes?

"You all right, bastard?" he asked softly.

"I guess," the island nation replied, turning his head away from the other two. "It's just – you know, fireworks are so interesting and pretty that it's easy to forget they're made of gunpowder. They look nice, but the sounds always take me back to the wars, the artillery fire, and all the pain of that time." He sighed and flexed his hands, looking down, not letting the tears fall. "I hate those memories."

Romano, already quite tired, felt tears spring to his own eyes while remembering those stressful times, and blinked a few times to fight it. He took the hand nearest him. "You – you shouldn't worry about that stuff anymore, bastard. It's a – a long time ago and all over with, now. There's nothing that can be done about that stuff in the past." He raised his other hand to dash the tears from his eyes.

England turned his body towards his friend, blocking him from the others' view. "Yes, but who's to say some tosser won't start it up again? Some empire-building freak? I've been in so many wars, and I hate it…it's draining, and brutal, and useless…and what if we ended up on different sides again?" He ended this in a weak whisper.

At that, Romano stopped fighting the tears and simply let them roll down his cheeks, silent, hot, still looking at England. "D-don't think about that, dammit. And please don't talk about it. We - we'll deal with that if it ever happens, all right?" The blond raised his free hand to wipe the tears from Romano's face. "And – and you know, you know – " He took a few deep breaths, resting his head on England's shoulder, trying to stop crying.

England placed his fingers under his friend's chin and raised his gaze, kissing the tears away. Romano saw the look in his eyes, and knew that no matter how crazy the day had been, everything was still right between them. Had been right, all day long.

"Don't cry, please…I – well, I –" He kissed Romano's lips, just once, then leaned forward and hugged him fiercely. "It will be all right."

"I know, bastard. We'll make it all right." He wiped the last traces of tears from his face and they snuggled together to watch the rest of the fireworks, hearts full, content.

…

On the way to the exit they passed the Ferris wheel again. "Look how short the line is," England pointed out. "Can we go on it again? It's a pretty short ride."

"Ve, it might be fun to ride it in the dark! Yes, let's."

"Germany? Romano?"

"Sure, whatever."

"I have no objection."

They let Germany and Veneziano get a little bit ahead of them. "It's getting kind of cold out," Romano noticed.

"Do – do you want to wear my sweater? It's really warm, and I should be all right if you give me your jacket. You know I'm accustomed to colder weather." England blushed while offering this.

"That's – yeah, that's a good idea, bastard. Thank you. Are you wearing anything under the sweater, though?"

"Well, of course I am, git. You think I'd offer to walk around in public bare-chested under your jacket?"

Romano poked him, just for the hell of it, and then set down the dragon and took off his jacket. England struggled out of the sweater, which was sticking to his t-shirt, and Romano couldn't resist poking him again, this time in the exposed belly. "Hey, quit it, that's completely unfair; I'm trying to do something nice for you," came the muffled voice. He finally got the sweater off and handed it to Romano, slipping into the black silk jacket in return.

When Romano pulled the sweater over his head he took a deep breath and smelled that familiar sea-and-moor scent that he loved so much. The sweater was still warm from his friend's body, and he snuggled into it gratefully. "Mm, this is great, bastard. Perfect. Thank you." He rubbed his hands up and down the sleeves a few times. "Yeah."

England looked at the sweater objectively. "That color sucks on you. You look sick."

"Screw you."

"Ah, shut it. Come on, pick up the dragon and let's go, or they'll be done riding before we even get in the line."

But the others were still the last two in line. As they came up, Veneziano eyed the sweater with a sweet, understanding smile, causing Romano to blush hotly, but his brother didn't make any comment. Germany didn't even appear to notice.

This time England and Romano got on the wheel first. When the wheel moved on, they immediately scooted closer together in the dark. "I did have a pretty good day, bastard." He tentatively put an arm around his friend's shoulders. "Here, I got you a little something." He fished around in the pocket of the jacket, blushing. Good thing it was nighttime.

"When?"

"When you and the potato bastard were on the Death thing."

"What is it?" England held out his hand for the small shiny thing he could see flashing in the lights from the park. He raised it up and saw it was a keychain with a tiny plush tomato on it. "Trust you to find a tomato keychain in the middle of a Japanese amusement park." He rubbed it on Romano's nose; his friend snorted and pushed it away. England smiled and tucked it safely back into the pocket, giving Romano a quick hug. "Thanks; it's cute. I'll put it on my keys when we get back to the hotel. And you know I always think of you when I see a tomato. Especially cute ones."

Was this damn blush ever going to go away? "I, uh, that is – I hope you won't want to forget about today. It's been a little – weird."

"What? No! I had a lot of fun. Why, didn't you?" He sounded quite concerned, and lifted a hand to comb his fingers through Romano's hair.

"Cheh, yeah, I guess." There was a short silence. "Yes, I did, bastard. Thanks."

"I'm glad you did. I was a little worried at some points. I kind of thought you'd want to leave those guys and go off on our own, though."

"_Chigi_! That didn't even occur to me. Dammit. Why didn't you say something? Imagine how different the day would have been."

"Well, it wasn't that bad with them, right? Maybe the – the Tunnel of Love thing was kind of – of weird, though."

"Ha, that was actually pretty funny. I'm kind of glad we did it, anyway. I was more freaked out by my brother after the laser thing."

They both spent a little time thinking about that. Romano could tell England was getting sidetracked, because he shifted in his seat and started to breathe a little more heavily. The half-nation tried to distract him from those thoughts. "How about you? Did you enjoy your day?" He moved his mouth closer to England's ear, to whisper, of course, not because he was going to kiss him in public! No matter how dark it was outside.

"Still am enjoying it! The Death Drop was great, and bumper cars with you was bloody awesome_._ You know…I always have fun being with you, no matter how much you drive me nuts." He leaned back with a smile.

Romano nestled closer, resting his chin on England's shoulder. "It's never boring with you; I can say that, bastard. I mean, that sounds pretty trite, dammit, I don't know how else to put it. But – but it's always kind of – of interesting, stimulating, even if we're arguing. I never know how it's going to turn out. I, I don't really mind it…much…" Here, he looked down at his dragon. "As long as we're going to be okay with it in the end."

"You know we will. We always are, right? If everything's all right when we're alone together at the end of the day, that makes me happy." England ruffled his friend's hair again.

"I agree," Romano said, and they began kissing in earnest…since it was nighttime anyway…

…

"_Ve~_," Veneziano breathed in relief, looking across the Ferris wheel at his brother and England, backlit by the bright park lights.

…

_Stay tuned._


	42. Amusement Park, Chapter 6

**Amusement Park, Chapter 6.**

On the way out of the park, Veneziano and Germany were cuddled up together as usual, walking dreamily, not speaking much. Romano was feeling kind of mellow by this point, too. He reached out and took England's hand gently as they walked out of the park in the dark, several yards behind their companions.

"Did we decide where to go eat?"

"The potato bastard's looking stuff up on his cell phone. I guess they want to go to some local place, get some Japanese food."

"That sounds all right to me. The idea of a good solid meal is sounding really healthy and invigorating right now, after all that ice cream and candyfloss."

The other two waited for them at the corner near the train station. "Ve, we're so tired. Would you mind if we ate at the hotel? Or if you don't want to, we could split up, and Germany and I will eat at the hotel and you can go where you want?" Veneziano was kindly refraining from any pointed comments on their joined hands, although Romano could see that the potato bastard was trying not to stare. Cheh, let him stare. England was an adorable bastard and Romano was happy to be with him. He stepped a little closer to his friend and smirked up at Germany, who actually flinched and turned away. Heh.

"Whatever you want, Romano," England said. "I'm kind of tired too, but I do want to eat something."

"Hell, at this point I'd be happy with room service. I hadn't realized how tired I was until we left the park." He yawned. Of course this made everyone else yawn too.

"Then we should all go back to the hotel. Let's get on the train." Germany led the way.

…

"Thank you again," England said to Veneziano and Germany as they rode the elevator to their hotel rooms. "I have so many good memories of this day." He squeezed Romano's hand.

"Yeah, bastards. I didn't think it was going to be much fun but I really enjoyed it." Romano avoided looking at the potato bastard. There were limits to his gratitude, after all.

"Ve," his brother breathed tiredly. "Me too. We should do it again sometime. Maybe in America! I hear they have very good amusement parks there."

"Italy, please," Germany groaned. "Let's get through today before we start talking about other excursions!"

"You said it, old chap."

…

Back in their room: "Did you really want room service?"

"Sure, why not, bastard? We can try all kinds of weird Japanese stuff without worrying about how we react in front of them."

"Okay, pick out some stuff off the menu and order it." England flopped down on the bed.

"Don't go to sleep! I mean it."

"Sleep! Hah. There's no way I'd fall asleep." He laughed and picked up Romano's dragon. "This thing really is kind of cute. Cute, but dark, just like you." He hugged it.

Romano threw the room service menu at him.

"Ow."

"Yeah, bastard, there'll be more than 'ow' if you fall asleep. Come on, stand up, look lively." He retrieved the menu and placed the call.

England took off his shoes and Romano's jacket, but he did lie back down on the bed for a while. "I hope you didn't order any of that weird hotel coffee."

"Cheh, no; I got some champagne, though."

"You demon. You're going to kill me."

"Put you in the hospital, maybe." Romano grinned evilly. "You're not the only one with six weeks of frustration to make up for." The blond grabbed him and pulled him onto the bed. "Dammit! Come on, not until after the food gets here."

"Too fucking reasonable again. You really have to let go of this sensible nature of yours, Romano. Let your bloody emotions out." They looked at each other for a second, and laughed together, just as the room service knock came at the door.

…

"You have to tell me something."

"What? And, I don't _have _ to tell you anything, bastard."

"Tell me what Veneziano said to you, to make you go on the roller coaster."

Romano scowled. England waited patiently, nibbling on some food, drinking some champagne, watching.

"Well?" he asked, after about a minute.

"Nh."

"Oh, come on. How bad can it be?"

"It wasn't – wasn't bad_._ He just – I – well, he told me I was being selfish, after you'd gone on the bumper cars with me –"

"Completely true –"

"– and that if I didn't ride on the roller coaster, he was going to take you back to the l-laser thing and – and – set you loose on me."

"And you believed him? Bloody hell, I wouldn't go back to that game for all the tea in China, not if you were around."

"What? Why not? I thought you liked it!"

"I liked it a lot, but it was actually painful to – to calm down afterwards. Knowing that you were right there and I couldn't touch you. If you had gone through the actual game with me I might have just thrown you down in a corner of the building somewhere and had my way with you, it was that arousing." England looked off to the side, blushing.

"Huh. Guess it's a good thing I don't like those shooting games," Romano said nonchalantly, drinking his drink.

A low growl was the only response.

…

England lay back in the chair. "That was delicious. You made good choices. I'm stuffed." They'd eaten everything they'd ordered.

"Meaning what?"

"Can't move. Let's go soak in the bathtub together."

"Bastard, you read my mind. Bring the champagne."

They looked at the bathtub. "Huh. This bathtub is way too small."

"We're just spoiled by your big bathtub at home. Shower?"

"Oh, let's just get in bed."

…

"So you didn't tell me what we're supposed to be doing tomorrow." They were cuddled up in bed, finishing the last of the champagne, just to get it out of the way. England idly traced circles under Romano's shirt with his fingers.

"Beats me. Sleeping in, I guess."

"Do they know that? Are they going to come knocking at eight again?"

"Bastards. They'd better not."

"Call them up and tell them."

"Chigi! They're probably in the middle of – of something!"

England got a wicked look on his face. "Can you think of a better time to phone them?" He started laughing again.

"You're so fucking evil. And you know, if we hadn't just spent the day having fun with – with them, I might have done it. But they don't deserve to be interrupted any more than we do. Besides…I'm a little worried about what my brother might do, if I piss him off."

"Huh. You're still too bloody reasonable. But I can let it slide this time. Put a note on the door."

"I already put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign up."

"You think that's enough? Put up a handwritten note. Here, I'll do it." England climbed out of bed to write a note and poked a hole in it to slide it over the door handle. "Done." He turned around to see Romano, now naked, snuggled under the covers. "What the hell? How do you always manage get your kit off so fast?"

"Never mind that," Romano purred. "Now take off your clothes, angel; get back in this bed, and tell me, in great detail, all about that laser maze."

"Yes, sir," England grinned, jumping on the bed.

…

_I don't know anything about Japanese amusement parks. Everything they did during this date was something you can do at most American amusement parks. I didn't want to write it as an American park, though, because if America had surplus tickets, he would have given them to England, and in that case, they would never have asked Veneziano and Germany to join them; they would have asked Prussia and Denmark. Japan was my plausible excuse for getting these four together on a double date. _


	43. Knitting Expo

_I finished knitting England's so-fuzzy sweater and I'm wearing it now so here is a girly little chapter for you all._

…

**Knitting Expo.**

"Hey, bastard, what are you doing this weekend?"

There was a silence, and then England cleared his throat over the phone.

"What's that supposed to mean, dammit?"

"Well, I have a plan, and you're welcome to join me, but…you might find it a bit…girly?"

"Huh. Tell me what it is, and I'll tell you if it's too girly for me."

"There's a knitting expo in London that I wanted to go to on Saturday."

"What the hell's a knitting expo?"

"It's where a lot of vendors and designers get together to showcase new yarns and patterns for the upcoming year."

Now there was a silence at Romano's end. Eventually he said, "I thought you said you didn't knit much anymore?"

"That was true, but I've started up again. I – have some ideas of things to knit. But – did you have something you wanted to do this weekend?"

"Not really, just thought we could get together."

"I could come down on Sunday?"

Romano was feeling generous. "Why don't I come up on Friday and stay the weekend? We can go to your knitting show thing, and then have Saturday night and Sunday together."

"You'd do that? That's…surprisingly open-minded of you, git."

"If it makes you happy, idiot…"

"Yes, all right. It shouldn't take too long, anyway. Maybe two hours tops, probably less than that. What time Friday will you get here, do you think?"

"Say after six sometime. Do I need to bring anything special?"

"What? Like what?"

"I don't know! That's why I'm asking!"

"I can't think of anything you'd need to bring. Just your hot little self."

Romano growled into the phone. "Fine, bastard, I'll see you on Friday."

…

He was astonished at the size, the crowds, the noise level in this very large place. As they walked along they were constantly jostled by the throng of mostly women; of course, they were also appraised a bit, since there were so few other men in the place. They each got a cup of coffee before beginning to wander the aisles. The colors and variety of yarns were very distracting, and they stopped every few booths so that England could fondle some yarn and look at the designs.

"Is there something in particular you wanted to see?" Romano finally asked.

"Well…yes, I want to visit the Rowan booth. They're the ones who make the fuzzy sweater yarn."

"Yeah, I'd like to see that too, bastard. Let's go there. Anything else?"

"Not really, just want to look at new yarns for the fall. I don't need to really look at patterns. Since most knitters are women, most of the designers are showcasing women's patterns, and I don't knit for any women."

They reached the Rowan booth and surprisingly, Romano managed to find the very fuzzy yarn almost immediately. "Hey, uh, bastard…"

"You want me to knit you a sweater, don't you?"

"How the hell did you know what I was going to say?"

"For crying out loud, how much more obvious could you make it!" They glared at each other in front of the yarn bins.

Eventually Romano dropped his gaze. "Yes, I was going to ask you to knit me a sweater. Just like yours, but better colors?"

"What's wrong with the colors in mine?"

"You said they made me look sick, dammit!"

"They do!"

"Well, then?"

Another impasse. Then England growled and pulled out the bins of yarn. "Black is probably the best base for you," he said, trying to stay calm. "What kind of colors do you want to go with it? I was thinking two different colors, because then the design will look different, and we won't look like matching idiots if we happen to wear them at the same time."

"You fucking bastard," Romano said after a minute of silence.

"What?"

"You were already planning to knit me one, weren't you? You absolute _bastard._" He kicked England in the shin.

"Ow. Stop that. So, do you want one or not?"

"Yes_,_ dammit. Let me look at the colors."

Eventually they chose teal and midnight blue to go with the black. "Wow, this is dark, git, but I like it. Suits you."

"Shut up."

They paid for the yarn and browsed the aisles for a while, but nothing else interested England enough to purchase. Since the noise level was getting pretty extreme, they moved to the refreshments area to sit down.

"What surprises me about all this is how – how artistic it really is," Romano mused, having a second cup of coffee. "I tend to think of knitting as being old ladies in rocking chairs, making doilies, but there are some hardcore things here, and amazing varieties of yarn. And the age range of the people is pretty wide, too."

"You think this is hardcore, you should see some of the expos in America. They had a fashion show with models in knitted underwear, and it was bizarre. Yarn made from stainless steel, and sugar, and recycled plastic bags! That idiot always has disco lighting and loud music and rubbish like that, too. At least here we're a little more discreet."

"What do you do, visit these things all over the world? Huh."

"No. I actually haven't been to one in about five years; that was this same show. And then before that, maybe ten years ago in Washington. That's about the time people started organizing these events. I just happened to be over there for a meeting so I stopped by."

"What other kind of artistic stuff do you do that I don't know about?"

England gave him a funny look. "How would I know what you don't know about? Wanker." Romano just rolled his eyes and drank more coffee. The blond thought about this for a minute. "Not much," he said vaguely. "I try to sketch, paint, stuff like that, but…I'm no good at it. Needlecrafts are about the only thing I can do well."

"Bastard, don't put yourself down like that. Maybe you should get a sketchbook; next time we go somewhere worth sketching, we can draw together. I'm sure you have artistic talent somewhere in there."

"Screw you." He grinned at Romano. "Anyway, I'm done here; if you want to leave, we can go get some dinner or something."

"Sure. Just – not an English restaurant, all right?"

"Bastard_,"_ England smirked, and they left the expo.


	44. Making Zabaglione

_This was intended as the beginning of the zabaglione chapter for 'Twelve Meetings,' but I didn't like the direction it was going._

…

**Making Zabaglione.**

"I have an idea, bastard."

"Uh…for what?" They were lying on the bed relaxing after spending the day wandering around Rome.

"Well…I'm kind of nervous about this one, but…here it is. I thought maybe we could cook together, make some zabaglione, and then bring it back to the bedroom and play?"

England was giving him a very funny look.

"What? What's the funny look for?"

"Why exactly would you be nervous about something like that?"

Romano blushed and looked up at the ceiling.

"Come on, you can't leave that dangling. What's bothering you?"

"It's, well…you kind of have a, a reputation."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"With cooking, dammit!" Then he covered his face with his hands. "Dammit." He knew his friend was going to be pissed off about that.

"I have a reputation with cooking," England deadpanned. "And so you don't want me to help you make zabaglione, because you're afraid I'll bollocks it up somehow."

Romano didn't answer, which was really all the answer required.

"Then why did you suggest it, wanker? You really are impossible." He rolled away from his friend, offended.

"Because, you idiot, I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt!" Romano tugged on his shoulder to roll him back, and found that England was shaking with silent laughter.

"Aha, gotcha, git." He started laughing out loud, poking Romano in the chest, and the brunet grabbed him for a hug.

"You are such a bastard!"

"I know."

This illuminating conversation was interrupted for a little bout of kissing, but then England put his mind back to the discussion. "So, what then? If we don't cook together, what is the plan?"

"I don't really have another plan. I realize it's kind of – of tame, but…?"

"Tame is all right. As long as we're being tame together, right?"

More kissing.

"Tell you what, I promise I'll let you do all the cooking. I'll help with stuff like getting the ingredients for you or cleaning up, but I won't get involved with the cooking. Do you think that will work?"

"So fucking understanding, I can't take it," Romano groaned melodramatically. "I may faint."

"I'll make you faint, wanker, once we have that zabaglione in hand."

"In _hand_ isn't quite what I had in mind."

"Shut it."

…

England's brain was awhirl with ideas…sexy ideas that could take place in a kitchen full of interesting foodstuffs, but it seemed Romano genuinely wanted to cook.

"Get the eggs out of the refrigerator, bastard."

"How many? The whole box? How much of this stuff are we going to make?"

"Get the whole carton; we'll just put back what we don't need."

England fetched the eggs.

"All right, hold on, I need to get my mixer." Romano got out his stick mixer and bowl and a saucepan. "Put some water in this pan." He handed it to the blond.

"'Some water'? How much is 'some water'? Half full? A few drops?"

"Dammit, you really don't know how to cook, do you? About an inch."

"Hey, I've never made this stuff before, git, how would I know? What good is an inch of water going to do, anyway?"

Romano didn't answer. When the water was in the pan, England tried to hand it to him, but he was busy rummaging around in a cabinet. "What, bastard?"

"Well, what should I do with it?"

"What do you normally do with a saucepan, idiot? Put it on the stove." Romano unearthed the Marsala wine and stood up.

"Don't get so shirty with me. I'm trying to help. Should I turn the stove on?"

"Do you think it will get hot if you don't? Chigi!" He stalked over and turned on the burner. "Dammit, the amount of help you're providing isn't quite what I'd hoped for. Look in my spice cabinet for sugar and salt." He pointed to the cabinet.

"There's a lot of different sugar in here. Powdered, light brown, dark brown, cane…?"

"Just cane. That other shit isn't right for this." He dug out a glass bowl. "Do you have it?"

"Impatient boy. Yes, I have it." England brought the sugar over to where Romano was working.

"What about the salt?"

"Oops." England went back for the salt. "Kosher salt, regular salt, sea salt? Bloody hell, who knew there were so many kinds of salt?"

"Regular salt is fine, dammit! Just bring it over." Romano ground his teeth as he began to separate the eggs from their yolks.

England brought the salt over and stood watching, fascinated. "What are you doing?"

"Grr. Am I teaching a cooking lesson here?"

"Maybe if you did, I wouldn't be so bad at cooking!" England slipped an arm around his shoulders and tried to kiss his ear.

"Stop that; you're distracting me. Anyway, what I am doing is separating the egg whites from the egg yolks. You don't use the whites in zabaglione."

"Why not?"

"It makes it a richer custard if you leave them out. Plus then I can use them for a meringue or something later on."

"Mm, meringue." England got a little distracted by that.

"Focus, please."

"Yes, yes, all right, git. You're the one who brought it up."

Romano had finished separating the eggs. "Here, put these into a container in the fridge."

"Where are the containers?"

"Dammit! Do I have to do everything myself?" He put the egg yolks and sugar into the glass bowl carefully.

"Bollocks, Romano, will you please listen to yourself? How the hell can I put this in a container if I don't know where they are?"

"Just – just go look around the kitchen, look in the cabinets, until you find something to put it in, all right? Feel free to open every cabinet and be as nosy as you like, just stop asking stupid questions."

"Wanker." England went to investigate all the cabinets while Romano mixed the zabaglione. "Is this all right?" he finally asked, holding up a little glass bowl with a lid.

"Yes, that's fine. Put it in the fridge." He was still working the hand mixer. "Put the rest of the eggs away, too."

After England had put those things away, he came back to the counter. "Why are you still mixing?"

"Bastard."

"I just want to understand. Isn't it mixed already? You've been mixing for a long time now."

"It's to aerate it. You don't want custard that's going to sit in your stomach like a lump of cement, do you?"

"No. Is there anything else you want me to do?"

"Open that wine. You can do that, can't you?"

"How inept do you think I am? No, don't answer that." He bent his attention to opening the Marsala and presented it to Romano with a flourish. This maneuver was wasted, as his friend was busy adding salt to the bowl.

Romano growled, turning his back to England. "Just give me the wine." Without looking at him, he held out his hand for the bottle.

The blond rolled his eyes, but handed it over, resting his elbows on the counter and watching the process. He was astonished to see that Romano merely poured some wine into the mixture without measuring. "Don't you…" He really didn't want to get his friend irritated any more, so he silenced himself.

"What now, bastard? You might as well ask."

"Don't you have to measure it?"

"Cheh, I've made zabaglione so much that I can do it by eyeballing it. Don't worry about it."

"You must be really good. I can memorize recipes, but anytime I try estimating without my measuring cups, it turns out a total dog's breakfast."

"I'm guessing that means 'total disaster'?" Romano grinned, but didn't look up from the bowl. "Is that water boiling yet?"

The blond peeked into the saucepan. "Yes_._"

"All right, move out of the way." He carried the bowl and mixer to the stove and gently put the glass bowl into the saucepan, then reduced the heat to a simmer.

"Bloody hell, this is fascinating. Why did you do that?"

"If it boils, it'll cook too fast, and we'll just have gross eggs."

"No, git, I mean, why put the glass bowl into the water?"

"Cooks slower, and more gently." He plugged in the mixer and began to stir the custard in its glass bowl again.

"And you're still mixing. Bollocks. This cooking stuff is a lot harder than I'd ever realized."

Romano burst into laughter. "Well, if you don't take the time to do it right, bastard, you're always going to fail, you know."

"You're telling me. Maybe I should take some lessons." He sneaked up behind Romano and put his arms around his waist, resting his chin on the brunet's shoulder. "Will you teach me how to cook?"

"No way. Too much of a time commitment," he snorted. "Just go sit down while I finish this."

"Can I drink some of this wine?"

"Dammit! No. Put the cork back in."

"Why not? It smells good."

"Just – save it. It's a dessert wine."

"Aha, we can drink it – later," the island nation said suggestively.

"Is that all you ever think about?"

"Of course not, wanker! I'm thinking about meringue, and cooking, and…all sorts of things."

"Yeah," Romano agreed slowly, with a smirk. "Hey, there's a bowl of fresh berries in the refrigerator; get it out, all right?"

When the berries were on the counter, Romano tested the temperature of the custard. "Almost there."

"Is this an 'eat it while it's hot' thing, or not?"

"It can be, if you need it to be fresh, but I don't want us to burn our – ourselves, so I thought we'd let it cool off a little first." Here, the brunet blushed, not looking up from the stove.

"Aha! You are thinking about sex!"

"Shut up, bastard." But he did get a little smile on his face. "Open up the wine again, and we can have some while we wait."

With a grin, England hastened to comply. Tonight was going to be delicious_._

…

_Immediately after I finished this, I wrote the "Sauced on Coffee" chapter of Skirmish Brothers, so these two chapters are sequential. The night did not turn out as delicious as England had thought._


	45. Special Day

**Special Day.**

"So what are you doing this weekend?" Romano asked. He was cooking and had the phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. Dammit, he really needed to get some kind of headset if he planned to talk to England while he was cooking. This was always so awkward.

"Can I come down for a visit? I thought I'd come down Saturday morning and stay overnight, if you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind; I'd like that. I'll make a cake or something."

"We could make a cake together?"

"No, we couldn't!"

"Git. Anyway, I have to go; I have to get to the shops. I'm out of butter and olive oil."

"You keep olive oil in the house? That's surprising."

"Well, I've been trying to cook Italian stuff recently, but I don't think I'm good enough to spring it on you yet!"

"Thank you, bastard," Romano replied fervently.

"Ah, shut it; I'll see you Saturday."

…

When the island nation arrived he had a request. "May I put my things in the guest room?"

"What? Why?"

"Er, no real reason, I just want to put them in there." He reddened. Bloody hell, he was never any good at this subtle stuff.

"Are you mad at me? Why do you want to stay in the guest room, dammit?"

Bollocks, he'd known Romano would get suspicious. "I don't want to stay in the guest room! I just want to put my bag in there!" They stared at each other wildly for a minute before Romano flapped his hand towards the guest room.

"Go for it, mystic bastard; you drive me crazy, but, whatever." He stalked off to the kitchen and England hurried to stow his suitcase in the guest room, removing his clothes from the bag and hanging them neatly.

They spent the day idly wandering around the city; it was early fall, just barely cold enough for jackets. Topics of conversation ranged from cooking to travel to movies; Romano seemed to be forgetting the strange discussion they'd had when England had arrived.

At about three o'clock England suddenly said, "Well, we should be getting back now."

"Uh, you've got something up your sleeve, don't you, bastard?"

"Why on earth would you think that?" But England felt his face get extremely red, and he wouldn't look at his friend.

Romano just laughed at him. "This is going to be a very funny night if you keep pretending you're not up to something. I'm actually looking forward to it."

"Good."

"Aha! See, you do have something planned. But…it's not my birthday, or Christmas…?"

"Just – just, whatever," England finally said. Romano shrugged. They walked back to his house in silence.

…

"So, wanker, why don't we go out someplace nice for dinner? You always cook and I hate making you slave over a hot stove." This entirely reasonable suggestion was completely ruined, because England was staring artificially off into the distance, trying to act nonchalant and failing miserably.

Romano narrowed his eyes. "This isn't some stupid party thing, is it? I don't want to have to deal with those two tonight."

"What? Who two?"

"Den and the albino potato!"

"What?" England replied. "No, it has nothing to do with them. I just thought you and I could enjoy a nice meal somewhere, instead of you having to cook!"

"Cheh, yes, but you don't have any nice clothes with you, do you? And you won't fit in my stuff, or my brother's."

Here, the blond turned airy and nonchalant again. "Oh, I did bring a suit this time." He reddened but tried to keep his expression straight.

Romano just shook his head. "You are so fucking bad at this. Well, as long as nobody else is going to be joining us, I don't mind. Tell me what you want me to wear. Oh – except, probably all the elegant places are going to be booked up tonight. We should have made reservations."

"Er."

"Er, what?"

"I, well, never mind, let's just go and see if we can get a table somewhere." He ran his hands through his hair. "Bloody hell."

"Whatever you say. Come on up, show me what you want me to wear."

They spent a pleasant hour in Romano's bedroom, trying on and removing suits, playing a little together each time he got undressed. Eventually they both felt a shower was a good idea. England refrained from suggesting they shower together, though. He went into his guest bathroom to shower and left Romano to get clean in his own bathroom.

…

"Hey, we look really good tonight, bastard! This was a good idea, assuming we can find a restaurant."

"You always look good to me, Romano, but yeah, we do look pretty spiffing." Both of them blushed. "Come on, I have an idea of a place I want to check out first."

They went to a new, elegant restaurant that Romano had been wanting to try, but it was always booked a long time in advance. "Bastard, we're never going to get in here."

"Can't you pull some strings? I'm sure they'd love to have you here." England walked into the lobby. "Just tell them who you are." Romano was not to know that England had made the reservations in his name a couple of weeks ago.

"Cheh, I'll ask, since I'm with you, but I hate manipulating people that way." Romano stepped to the podium and flashed the hostess a nice smile. A moment of conversation and she graciously led them to a table.

"See, git? Easy. You're too uptight."

When they had been seated, both of them looked around at the décor, the patrons. "This _is_ a very nice place. I'm glad you had this idea, whatever your mysterious reasons are. Thanks."

England gave him the sweet smile. "By the way, this is my treat."

The Italian got a nervous look on his face again.

The table was nice and secluded; a vase with lilies and daisies sat on the table. Romano didn't even notice it.

They had a delicious, leisurely dinner, again speaking of nothing in particular, sharing a bottle of wine.

"Mm, I'm feeling very mellow," the brunet finally announced. "You've been surprisingly calm tonight, too."

"I'm just happy that we got to have our nice elegant dinner together."

"So that's really all this was? Just an elegant dinner? Nothing else up your sleeve?" Romano was watching him carefully. England fought to keep his composure, but he couldn't do it, and slid his eyes away nervously.

"Huh," Romano went on. "Well, what next?" They paid the bill and left the restaurant.

"Nothing in particular. We can go back to your place now."

"Seriously? You confuse me, bastard."

"Like you don't ever confuse me? Ha."

…

Romano was a little nervous when they got back. "Uh…you are staying with me tonight, right? I mean, in my room?"

"Of course I am! Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know! I'm just nervous."

His friend came to embrace and kiss him. "Don't be nervous. Change into something more comfortable and let's make a fire in your room. It would be nice to snuggle up for a while before bed."

"Y-yes." He got a grip on himself. England wasn't going to do anything scary_._ Romano trusted him. "Fine. Go get changed and come to my room."

…

He'd finished building the fire when England came back in, blushing, wearing sweat pants and a t-shirt. He was holding something behind his back which he slipped under the bedcovers. He probably thought Romano hadn't noticed that, but he had.

"Want to move the couch over in front of the fire? It would be more comfy than sitting on the floor." The island nation's voice was diffident. Romano could see how nervous he was, so he decided just to roll with it.

"Sure, bastard, give me a minute." He lit the fire and they pushed the couch into position.

"Sit down," England commanded.

Romano sat. His friend hadn't used the words "git" or "wanker" for several hours, which was fairly worrying in itself.

England paced a little before coming to join Romano on the couch, sitting next to him, and then turning to put his legs across the half-nation's lap and embrace him with one arm. He gave Romano a hesitant little smile before quickly burying his face in the dark hair and taking a deep breath.

"Bastard, what? Is something wrong? Are you sick?" Romano put an arm around his friend and stroked the fair hair with his other hand.

"No, no. Just –" He drew back to look at his friend. "Do you – oh, bloody hell." He put his face against Romano's hair again.

"You sure you're all right?"

"Yes, wanker, I'm all right!"

Well, that was more like it. "Good. I hate it when you start acting all mysterious."

"You're a git."

Hmm. Things seemed to be right back to normal. "So are you, bastard; what the hell is going on tonight?"

England blew out a sigh. "Do you remember our kissing lessons?" He put both arms around Romano's neck and hugged him tightly.

"Of course I do, stupid! What kind of a question is that?"

The blond drew back and looked at him again, this time irritated. Romano was quite puzzled.

"You are a world-class wanker. Tomorrow is the anniversary of our kissing lessons."

"O-oh." He thought about this. "Oh," was again all he could manage, but he did lean forward to kiss his friend. "Bastard," he murmured into England's mouth.

"Shut it. Kiss me some more."

They spent a few pleasing minutes just kissing each other, thinking about that day.

"You're such a sentimental fool," Romano finally said.

"You make me that way."

…

In the morning Romano awoke first, stretched and grinned, thinking about last night, about his sentimental friend, who was snoring next to him. He got out of bed and went into the bathroom to wash up.

There was an unmarked envelope propped up on the sink. He picked it up and opened it to find a card.

Romano read the sweet commentary inside and felt tears forming. He slapped the card down on the countertop and hastily washed his face with cold water, thinking about his snoozy bastard and what a great year they'd had. Dammit.

After he was clean and under control, he went back to the bed and crawled back in. England didn't awaken. Romano quietly slipped an arm around his friend and lay awake, not really thinking of anything, just feeling content.

…

"Bastard, are you ever going to wake up?" It was an hour later and he was losing patience. He poked England in the side.

"Stop poking me, git, I'm sleepy." But he woke up. "Oh. Hi. Give me a hug."

"Gladly, you fucking sentimental bastard." Here, Romano gave him a weak little smile.

"Oh. You found the card?" England blushed.

"Yes, I found the card." Romano hugged him very tightly, mostly to conceal his own blush. He felt England's arms slip around him and hold him close.

"Best year of my life," the blond whispered to him.

"Me too. Let's have another one," Romano responded, kissing his hair.

…

_I'm feeling like this is a good place to end this particular story, so, thanks for reading! This is the last of the combined sequels._

_The Skirmish Brothers stories are part of this universe and ongoing, so you can find a little more of them together there, from time to time._


	46. A Gift

_After a lot of thought I've decided to reopen this story. This is for two reasons. One is, the purist in me wants to get England out of the Skirmish Brothers story line as a main character. The other is, now that "Twelve Meetings" is defunct, I have no canon stories where Romano and England can be romantic together. So, this will now continue much as before, although it will lean more towards the "Twelve Meetings" style of chapter._

_This will continue to be a counterpoint to "Skirmish Brothers." Denmark and Prussia will appear in here occasionally, and the stories will somewhat intertwine, as previously._

_This chapter comes immediately after chapter 48 of "Skirmish Brothers."_

…

**A Gift.**

"Hi," England said into the phone, sounding weak.

"Hi yourself? What's the matter?" Romano frowned at the phone. The blond hadn't been able to get away for the Germany-Italy Euro Cup party at the potato bastard's house, because he'd had such a backlog of work. This had pissed Romano off quite a bit, because Italy had absolutely trounced the German fuckers. He and Veneziano had been mighty, mighty smug the rest of the night, and he really wished England could have been there to see it.

He chuckled, remembering Prussia's pouty behavior when Denmark had started crowing about winning that bet. Now the only thing worrying him was that Sunday they'd play against the tomato bastards. For the championship! Dammit.

"Hello? Hello?" England said.

"Uh. Sorry, bastard. What did you say? I was kind of distracted."

"Hah. Distracted by your football prowess, probably."

"Yeah, that, and…we're up against _Spain_ on Sunday! Dammit!"

"Well, forget that for now. I'm proud of you, by the way. Your team played well."

"You watched it? I thought you were busy."

"I was. I am! But I had it on in the background." He cleared his throat. "I admit I didn't get much work done. I was watching and thinking about you." The blond's voice grew more affectionate. "I'm really happy to be with you, you know."

Romano felt himself blushing and started stalking around his living room with the phone. "I – you – yeah, thanks, bastard. Me too." He stalked a little more as an embarrassed silence descended, and then: "So why did you call, anyway?"

"Do you have plans for the weekend?" England's voice was still soft.

"Bastard, if you think I'm going to go fucking around while my team plays _Spain's_ –"

"No! No. I, er, I got two tickets to the final. I thought we could go and cheer your team on in person. I'm even willing to seek some attention by painting the Italian flag on my face."

Romano couldn't fight a grin. "That would be excellent. Thank you. But it's in Kiev; are you able to travel so far? I mean, if you're that busy?"

"If you can come up tonight, or early tomorrow, we can fly over on Sunday morning and get a little sightseeing done? Unless you're too tired from the LA trip."

"Not a problem. As long as the albino potato isn't around to act hyper and freak me out, I'll be all right. It'd be nice to spend a little time alone with you, without them lurking in the next room."

"Hah. You're not kidding. Well, let's talk about travel."

Plans were hastily made for Romano to come to London tonight, and the two nations rang off.

…

Romano rang the blond's doorbell and was flabbergasted when a pair of pale hands reached out, pulling him inside. Before he could recover he felt strong arms wrap around him and a kiss pressed to his lips. "Mmm," England growled, "I have missed you _so much_. I'm glad you're here."

"Me too, bastard," the brunet answered somewhat breathlessly. "But it's only been five days!"

"Five days of nonstop work. It seemed like everything I looked at, everything I had to attend to, made me think of you. Very frustrating."

"You're not so tired now, are you?"

"Heh. No. Come in." England led him by the hand into the living room.

Romano felt all his breath leave him in a rush. "Wh-what?" The room was lit with possibly a hundred candles, inside the cold fireplace and on every available surface, perfuming the air with the delicate scents of an English garden. A big pile of pillows was on the floor with cool sheets stacked nearby. Near the fireplace, an ice bucket held a bottle of champagne and two glasses stood beside it. "What is all this?"

"Do I need an excuse to celebrate with my beloved Germany-trouncing football champion?" England smiled. "Come and lie down. I didn't make a fire, since it's so warm out, but I wanted to make it memorable."

"Don't think you're going to wear me out and let fucking Spain win the match."

"You know I wouldn't dream of it," England murmured, pulling him down onto the pillows.

…

"I have something for you," England said later, as they cuddled up for sleep.

"What is it? Not some stupid hat."

"N-no. Something I should have given you a while ago. Do you want me to go get it?"

Romano was intrigued. "Sure, if you're not too tired."

"I'm not." England hugged him and then got up, wrapping a sheet around his waist and going to hunt for the mystery item.

When he came back he handed Romano a shopping bag. "Sorry I didn't wrap it. Trying to do my part for the environment, not wasting so many trees on wrapping paper."

"I really like how you're always thinking of that shit."

England blushed, visible even in the flickering candlelight. "Just open it, wanker."

Romano reached in and drew out a very fluffy – "Oh! My sweater!" He smiled at England. "I'd completely forgotten."

"Well, er, I'm sorry it took me so long to knit it."

The brunet hugged him and the sweater got sandwiched between them. "Thank you. It doesn't even matter."

"It does! It's the middle of summer now; you won't be able to wear it for a long time." England grimaced. "I did slack on it. I'm sorry."

"Forget about it, bastard." Romano spread it out on the sheet. "It's really nice. The colors look better than I'd thought. You did a great job."

Now England beamed at him. "I'm glad you like it. Put it away."

"Now what?" He set the sweater off to the side of the room. "Sleep?"

"Yes. I'm exhausted."

Romano smirked. "I know." Then he looked around the room. "What about the candles? Don't we have to blow them out before we go to sleep?"

"Oh. Right." England waved a hand in a funny way and all the candles went out at once. "There."

"Mystic bastard. You scare the shit out of me sometimes."

"Mm, nothing to be scared of. Come closer and I'll prove it."

"Bastard." But he moved closer to the blond. "Hey. Don't use any magic in the match on Sunday, all right?"

"Wanker. If I were going to use magic in a match, I would have done it when England played Italy!"

"Yes, all right, whatever. Shut up and let's go to sleep."

"Not just yet." England began kissing him, and Romano soon found that all thoughts of sleep had fled his mind completely.

…

_So I guess this is a sort of teaser, a re-introductory chapter, whatever you want to call it. The next chapter will be about the Italy-Spain match, although that match is on Sunday the 1__st__ and the chapter won't go up for a while after that because I'm heading on vacation._

_Thanks for sticking with me!_


	47. Italy versus Spain

**Italy versus Spain.**

"Germany! Germany! I'm so glad you came over to watch the match, ve. We are going to do so well."

"If the prowess you showed at our match was any indication, I'm certain that you will. But where is Romano?"

Veneziano brought a bottle of wine and two glasses out in front of the television set, where Germany was sitting stiffly on the floor. "England got tickets to go to the match! They're in Kiev, ve, watching from the stands."

"That must be very exciting for him."

"For both of us. Ve, Germany, give me a kiss. Get my team excited and pumped."

Germany obliged.

…

"All right, Den, this is going to be awesome." Prussia and Denmark were camped on the floor in front of Den's television. Behind them sat a cooler full of beer (mixed German and Danish). Denmark had a bag of pretzels and Prussia a box of cherry cupcakes. A coffee table sat in front of them, and each nation had a stack of Euros on that table in front of him. Prussia's, a haphazard pile of bills and coins, contrasted strongly with Denmark's neat piles, sorted by denomination.

"Right, so what's the bet going to be?" Denmark drank some beer. "And how much?"

"We both want to bet on Italy, right?"

"Well, if we do, Romano won't kill us when we see him. Why isn't he here, anyway?"

"Kesesese! Veneziano said Arthur got them tickets to the match, so they're in Kiev. Maybe we'll see them on TV!" He drank some beer. "Anyway, let's do little bets. I bet…Spain gets the first goal."

"That's a good one. All right. I'll bet Italy gets the first goal. Five Euros?"

"Five Euros," Prussia agreed, shaking his hand.

…

"These are great seats, bastard. Thanks for bringing me. You're damn good to me." They clambered into their seats at the side of the pitch.

England grinned at the Italian flag painted on Romano's cheek, the twin to his own. "Have every reason to be, you adorable wanker."

"What the hell; give me a hug, maybe it will get the team excited." They hugged excitedly and turned to watch the start of the game.

…

"Ve, Germany! Give me another kiss for good luck."

"I never mind giving you kisses, Italy, no matter what the reason is." Germany leaned over and kissed Veneziano.

…

"Bastard, I have this really insane desire to kiss you, for some reason. Bring the team some luck."

"Er – are you sure? I don't mind, but – er –"

"Just shut up and kiss me."

England leaned in towards Romano with a grin on his face.

…

"Den! _Look in the stands!_ It's Arthur and Romano! They're going to kiss, kesesese! On international television!"

"No way. Five Euros?"

"Five Euros." They shook hands again just as England's lips met Romano's on the big screen.

"Damn." Denmark slapped a fiver onto Prussia's money pile with a disgusted grimace.

The crowd began to roar. "Italy score?" Prussia wondered.

Denmark was paying more attention, though. "Uh-oh."

The camera cut to the Italian goal, where the Spanish players were dancing around in joy. The Spanish fans were laughing and screaming. Denmark put his head in his hands. "Shit." He put another five-Euro note on Prussia's pile.

…

"You fucking _bastard._"

"Hey, I told you it might be a bad idea, git."

"Shut the fuck up. Don't talk to me."

"Romano, you can't possibly blame that on me."

"Want to bet?"

"If this is the only goal of the entire game, then maybe, _maybe_ you could pin it on me. But if either of you scores again, obviously it's nothing to do with me."

"Shut up, bastard. Leave me alone."

"Git."

…

Denmark and Prussia listened to the commentators discussing the Spain goal, Prussia grinning and Denmark scowling.

"New bet?" Prussia asked.

"Now what? Next goal?" Denmark scooped up some pretzels, crushing them in his powerful fist and pouring the crumbs into his mouth before washing them down with more beer.

"Nope. I bet Romano's super-pissed now. He's going to say Arthur was distracting him."

"That's bullshit. Even Romano wouldn't be that babyish. Five Euros?"

"Five Euros." Shaking hands again, the two nations turned back to the TV.

"How are we even going to validate that?" Denmark wondered. "It's unlikely the camera will go back to them."

But he was proven wrong yet again as the camera went straight back to Romano and England, who were now turned away from each other, each scowling with folded arms.

"Kesesese! Five Euros, my friend!" Prussia held out a hand and Denmark smacked a fiver into it.

…

Romano continued to be surly throughout the entire rest of the match. As England attentively watched the gameplay, he noticed the Italian players seemed to be restless and unable to focus, working very hard on defending, but not making progress towards a goal of their own. Spain scored two more goals, and although the Italian team worked very hard, it just wasn't happening for them tonight.

"All right, bastard," Romano snarled after the third Spain goal. "I can't blame you."

"Damn straight," England replied unwisely.

"Shut up."

They went back to their former impasse, glaring at the players, resolutely avoiding each other's gaze.

…

In the last few minutes Spain scored yet again. "Dammit."

"Eh."

The match ended without any further communications between the two of them. Spanish fans in the stadium erupted with joy, and the Italian players, exhausted, nodded neutrally at the winning team before departing the field.

"Come on," Romano said, standing up. England followed, wondering just what his friend had in mind.

Down on the field Spain was standing in a circle of his team members, being hugged; France was waiting off to the side, grinning triumphantly at England and Romano as they approached. "Oi! Tomato bastard!" Romano yelled.

Spain broke out of the circle of players and scampered over towards the others; France joined them. "Lovi, this was a good match. A _great_ match! Fusososososo!"

France hugged Spain and whispered something in his ear, but Spain, perhaps wondering what Romano would say, pushed his old friend away.

The half-nation stepped forward and cupped Spain's face in his hands, staring intently into the green eyes, and then drew the older nation down, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Lovi~! You – _ow!_" he yelled, as Romano kicked him in the groin.

"Next year, fucker," Romano spat, turning away. He slid a hand intimately into England's back pocket, and the smirking island nation, after flicking France the V, slipped his hand into the back of Romano's waistband. Spain and France stared after them in disbelief (Spain still in a half-crouch of pain) as the two of them sauntered cockily off the field.

When they'd rounded the curve of the stadium wall, both England and Romano burst into laughter and leaned back against the wall. "Sorry, bastard. Totally sorry."

"Eh, me too. Give us a kiss." They kissed a few times in the lee of the stadium wall. "Come on; let's get out of here before that wanker gets his balls back in gear." They joined hands and ran out of the stadium together, still laughing.

…


	48. Being Independent

_I guess I'm a bad American. I spent the entire Fourth feeling sorry for England. Then I wrote this._

…

**Being Independent.**

"Well, that was a sucky match," Romano grumbled, as England unlocked the front door to his townhouse.

"Don't worry about it. You'll kick his arse next year, just like you promised."

"Fuck."

They went inside. It was late; Romano had arranged to stay overnight before traveling home on Monday morning. "Wish you could stay all week," England muttered, leading the way into the living room.

"What? Why?" Then Romano smirked. "I mean, obviously you'd love to spend a whole week with me, bastard, but…specifically why?"

The island nation leaned against the back of his couch. "Eh. Wednesday is the blasted fourth of July."

Romano looked blank. England grimaced, shaking his head, and continued. "Bloody America declared his independence from me. Has a big celebration every year." He sighed and his chin sunk to his chest. _"Big."_

"Let me talk to my brother," the brunet suggested after a beat, coming closer and sliding his arms around the blond. "Maybe I can stay."

"You're serious?" England offered a weak smile.

"Hey, you can't have the monopoly on being supportive and caring, bastard."

"Clearly not…_git._" But the island nation was still smiling, and he hugged Romano in return.

…

"Have to go to work tomorrow," England mumbled, as they collapsed in the big bed that night.

"That's all right. Just point me towards a grocery store. I'll get some things to cook."

The blond snuggled up close. "Mm. You'd make a great wife, you know."

Romano, despite his exhaustion, punched him, frowning. "You're a fucking idiot."

"I know. Good night." England yawned and closed his eyes. He didn't even care if Romano was mad or not. The wanker would get over it by morning.

The half-nation's face softened and he kissed his friend's forehead tenderly. "Good night, _mio angelo_."

Hah.

…

Monday and Tuesday passed uneventfully, save for delicious meals cooked by Romano. Wednesday morning dawned clear and bright. England had arranged to take the day off and awoke in time to see Romano enter the bedroom with a breakfast tray. "Breakfast in bed? Nice." He yawned and stretched, noticing an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne and a carafe of orange juice already on the nightstand. "Mimosas? You're really going all out." He reached for the bottle.

But Romano shook his head. "Not just yet, bastard. Shower first."

England tried to look seductive and must have missed it by a mile, because Romano burst out laughing. "All right," the blond finally said, getting out of bed. "Will you shower with me, though?"

"Stupid. That's kind of the point."

Once in the shower, England found himself fully awake within seconds, as Romano's greedy mouth attacked his; the kissing was fierce and arousing under the shower spray. Time passed; the brunet used his exceptional skills with hands and fingers to bring his friend pleasure that seemed much more intense today than ever before.

"Cor," England moaned afterwards, collapsing back against the tiled wall. "But – er – what about you?"

"Don't worry about me, sweetie," Romano told him with a wicked smile. "My turn later."

Looking at his aroused friend, England wondered how he could have such intense self-control. But he accepted Romano's comment and shrugged himself upright.

Once dried off, they went back to the bed. "Breakfast now? I'm starving."

"Yeah. Get in the damn bed."

Romano pulled the breakfast tray onto the big bed before pouring them each a mimosa. He then crawled onto the bed, propping himself up on his side, while England settled into a sitting position against the headboard. "What's for breakfast? Bacon and eggs?" He could see a bowl of peach slices and a bowl of fresh cherries, but there was something hidden under a plate cover.

The brunet lifted the silver cover off the breakfast platter. "Cream-filled doughnuts," he grinned.

"That's good too." Really, England was going to take anything Romano gave him today – food or otherwise. A little smirk appeared on his lips as Romano handed him a cherry. He held it between his teeth and flicked his tongue around it.

"Dammit. That tongue, bastard, you – nh…" Romano raised himself on his hands and knees, and slowly leaned forward to curl his own tongue around the cherry. For a moment they danced for mastery and then England surrendered it to his friend's warm mouth.

Romano licked it a few times himself, before chewing and swallowing. "Oh, _yes_."

They ate in silence for a short time, sipping mimosas, sharing doughnuts, cherries, and peaches. Then Romano picked up a peach slice and rubbed it on England's parted lips. "Sticky," the blond complained.

"I can help with that." Romano licked the peach juice off, carefully and tenderly. "Ah. Still delicious." He fed the fruit slice to England.

"Mm. I know. Kiss me."

Romano smiled before leaning in to kiss him, slowly and sweetly; naked under the sheet, England began to squirm a bit. "More," he breathed, but the brunet drew back with a smirk.

"Relax. We have all day." Romano then reached for the last doughnut, splitting it apart. Some of the cream filling dripped onto England's chest. "Want me to clean that off for you, bastard?"

"Nh. Of course." The blond put the champagne glasses onto the breakfast tray and slithered down until he was lying flat on his back, and his friend bent to lick up the spill.

"I love cream filling," Romano mumbled, his warm tongue making teasing swirls on England's torso.

"I'll give you cream filling, wanker," his friend replied, arching closer.

…

Later: "Bollocks. Is this your plan for the whole day? Screw me senseless? Not that I'm complaining."

"Not at all. I have a lot of different plans." Romano yawned and ruffled the blond hair.

"But I'm exhausted. Well, at least we took care of you, this time."

"Do you want to sleep some more? Go ahead. I need to take care of some things in the kitchen anyway."

"Mm. Yes, please." They shared a kiss before England rolled over, cuddling up with Romano's pillow. The brunet pulled on his boxers and headed to the kitchen.

…

England dreamed; he dreamed of Denmark and Prussia and the drums of war. He dreamed of pain, physical pain and the pain of separation; in his dream, America became Romano and flatly stated his desire to sunder himself from the island nation.

Heart aching, tears in his eyes, he awakened to find the brunet spooning tightly behind him, stroking his hair and kissing the back of his neck. He must have cried out in his sleep. How bloody _needy_ he always was on this date. How lame and weak Romano must think him.

But – "Don't be sad, England. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone." Romano continued stroking and soothing the island nation, who rolled over in his embrace.

After a few reassuring kisses, and a little more cuddling, England completely forgot about the nightmare and became more aware of his surroundings, sniffing the air. "What do I smell now, you fabulous cook?"

"Asiago cheese and sundried tomato scones."

"Bloody hell!" The island nation sat upright and looked around wildly. "Where? Where?"

"Calm down, desperate boy. Right here." Romano lifted a bowl of warm scones from the nightstand. "Eat."

They ate.

"Wish you _could_ be my wife," England laughed, licking crumbs off his fingers. "These are delicious. Thanks."

"You really are a complete idiot. You want to marry me for my cooking? Bastard."

"Actually, I'd rather marry you for the sex, but the cooking is a plus, too."

Romano flicked a crumb at him, which missed. "Are you feeling all right?" he then asked.

"Better than any other fourth of July that I can ever remember." England held him close. "Thank you."

"I don't mind staying and cheering you up. I – I'm happy we got together," Romano told him, and England was unsurprised to see the deep red stain on his cheeks. The brunet buried his face in the crook of his friend's shoulder. "I have so much fun with you." He held on tightly.

England was overcome with a rush of emotion. "I love you too," he blurted out, feeling himself blushing as well. Whoops.

"What? 'Too'? _'Too'?_ Did I say I l-lo-lov— did I _say _that, bastard?" Romano drew back and punched him. "Shut the fuck up with that shit. I didn't say that at all, dammit."

"Yes, all right. Sensitive git. Let me sleep some more." England brushed scone crumbs off the bed before lying back. He shut his eyes, breathing deeply and slowly. Lying on his back, he felt Romano move away and settle in next to him. He continued the deep, regular breathing, trying to calm himself enough to sleep. Why had he said such a thing? Now Romano would be pissed off, and the day would be shot.

"I do – uh – love you, England," he heard from the pillow next to him, very, very quietly.

Although he kept his eyes shut, the blond couldn't fight a smile, and then felt Romano punch him again. "Ow! Bloody wanker." He opened his eyes.

"I hate you. Pretending to be asleep? That's a cheap tactic."

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" The blond's grin was arch.

_"Chigi!"_ Romano flipped over with his back to his friend.

"Don't be so stroppy. If you _do_ love me – and I'm damn glad you do – then you love my cheap tactics, too, don't you?" He spooned behind his friend.

But Romano didn't respond, except to relax slightly in his arms.

England continued holding him, now kissing the dark hair, avoiding the hair curl for the moment. "Don't be angry. Please?"

He felt the brunet blow out a sigh. "I'm not angry, bastard. Let me roll over."

The island nation loosened his grip; Romano rolled over. "Let's sleep a little, loverboy." He kissed England and they smiled at each other.

"Yes, all right."

…

"Right, get out of the bed, dammit."

"What? But it's so comfortable." England, puzzled, frowned at his friend. Was all the sexy cuddly playtime over for today? Oh, well.

"Just get up, bastard, and put on something nice."

"Bollocks. You mean like a suit?"

"No, no, something like you'd wear if we – ah – if we were going out together. Just on a regular date. Jeans or whatever the hell you normally would wear. Shorts, if you want."

England shrugged and got out of bed. "At least I got a lot of good sleep," he realized. "If you're going to keep me awake all night I'm ready for it."

"Bastard, you've no fucking idea."

…

Outside, Romano took his hand. "Do you remember once we went to an outdoor concert in a park?"

"Of course I do, you demon. That was our first date. Our first time – er –"

"Yes, our first time _er._ Well, let's go to that park. I thought there might be some music tonight."

"I don't mind. It's a nice evening."

It was. The sun was out; it was warm without being overly hot. People in the streets seemed fairly upbeat, smiling at the two nations as they progressed through London.

"Hey, there is a concert!" England said, surprised, when they got to the park. "I had no idea. I wonder who's playing." He could see the stage, which was empty of people but had instruments and equipment set up. He didn't see any flyers around advertising the band names, though.

Romano led him calmly by the hand through the throng of happy music lovers, towards the stage. "Come on, bastard."

"Er – are you sure you want to sit so close?" England didn't mind, of course, but he didn't think Romano had been getting into rock music much, despite the island nation's influence.

Before his friend answered, some people came out onto the stage and yelled into the microphone. "Hey, _Arthur!_"

England, astonished, snapped his eyes to the stage, where Prussia and Denmark were standing, waving madly at him, their instruments at their sides. Then he turned to Romano, eyes still wide. "Wanker, you – you –"

Romano kissed him quickly and furtively. "Told you it would be a good day, bastard. Are you up to performing tonight?" He squeezed the blond's hand.

"Am I! After all that delicious food and" – he lowered his voice – "delicious lovemaking? I could play until dawn, I bet." He stopped walking and hugged Romano in the middle of the crowd. "Thank you so much."

"Cheh, whatever, get off me. Let's go see the bastards."

…

England hugged his friends. "Hi!"

"Are you feeling okay today, Arthur?" Prussia hugged him and then ruffled his hair. "Is Romano taking awesome care of you?"

England and Romano both started blushing and couldn't meet the albino's eyes, or Den's. "Whatever," Romano finally barked. "Are you going to play, or what?"

"What about my guitar?" England asked.

"Kesesese! It's right here! We picked it up, with your amp, this afternoon while you were napping." Prussia pointed to it; it was the one with the Italian flag.

England frowned delicately as something occurred to him. "Den, I thought you – you always celebrated America's independence today?" He felt Romano take his hand again, squeezing it.

Denmark shrugged. "Once in a while I can change things up, right? Have to support _all_ of my friends." He hugged England too, with a big smile, and the island nation relaxed. "Come on. Let's play."

"Rock on!" Prussia yelled, so they did.

…

"Are you gits staying the night?" an exhausted, happy, and well-loved England asked, as they carried the instruments up the steps to his townhouse.

"Yep. Romano made zabaglione." Prussia pronounced it right.

"Teutonic Knights brought German Monopoly," Den told him.

"Dammit." Romano kicked a pebble. "But Den brought four pounds of coffee beans," he then laughed.

"What a great day," England sighed, unlocking the door with a smile.

…

_Denmark really does have a celebration in honor of America's independence._


	49. Cherries

**Cherries.**

"Attention, people! Let's get moving; we don't have all day," Hungary snapped.

"Of course we have all day! That's the whole point of these meetings!" England plopped into a chair and put his head in his hands. No Romano this time. The wanker had decided to skip this one, because he was too frantic about packing for his Danish cruise. But he'd waited until the last minute to cancel.

Maybe they could text each other during the meetings. That would be at least something to take his mind off them. He was in no mood for this. There was a bowl of fresh fruit on the table; he absently took some cherries and ate them, neatly collecting the pits on the saucer of his teacup.

Eventually all the chairs were filled; this meeting room was kind of small, and there was barely any room for people to move around. England felt like a bloody kipper in a tin. He was next to Switzerland, whose perpetual scent of gun oil was threatening to make him gag. Prussia and Denmark were near the front of the room. There hadn't been any seats left near them, by the time England had reached the room.

The island nation pulled out a paper notepad and pen – there wasn't even room to hold a laptop – and turned his attention to Hungary, at the head of the table.

Just then the door burst open, hitting Veneziano's chair and catapulting him into Russia's lap. "Ow, ve, ow!"

Romano stood in the doorway, looking around frantically.

"Romano?" several people chorused: Prussia, Den, Spain, and England himself. Veneziano finally remembered to get off Russia's lap and sat in his own chair again, moving it closer to Germany, as if for protection.

"Sorry I'm late, bastards," Romano muttered, and closed the door.

"Well? Sit down, sit down!" Hungary gestured angrily at the table. "We need to get started." She flipped her long hair out of her face and punched the table.

Romano – and almost everyone else – scanned the room for an empty chair, but there was none. "Kesesese! Guess you'll have to sit on someone's lap!"

"Not yours, albino potato!" He sighed, shrugged, and crossed the room towards England, seated near the back wall. "I'm _not_ going to sit on your lap," he hissed. "Move over and let me sit on the floor."

"Are you an idiot? You'll never see anything! What are you doing here, anyway?" England asked him in a low tone.

But before Romano could answer, Hungary started yelling. "Hey, hey, hey! Come on, England, shut up and let's get the meeting going."

"Dammit."

"Just sit on my lap, git. At least you'll be able to see what's going on."

"Fuck. I might as well. There's no room on the floor anyway." With a deep scowl, Romano took his place on England's lap; the island nation automatically put his hand on the small of his friend's back and began rubbing it in small circles. "This is so stupid. Why doesn't she have bigger conference rooms?"

A loud squeal distracted them. "Ooh! That looks so fun; I totally want to sit on Liet's lap! Come on, Liet, let me, like, sit on your lap." Poland poked his friend energetically.

Romano breathed a sigh of relief. He bent down to whisper in England's ear, "Good, if the pony bastard sits on Lithuania's lap, I can have his chair."

"But that's all the way across the room! I want to sit near you," England hissed.

They looked over there: Poland was cozily snuggling up on Lithuania's lap, arms around the red-faced brunet's neck, giggling and kicking his high heels back and forth.

"Please stay with me," England suggested with his best sweet smile. It would be adorable to have Romano on his lap for the whole meeting.

Romano caved in, as the blond had guessed he would. He slung an arm around England's shoulders and sighed. "Yes, all right, bastard. Let's hope this is a short meeting. And – _no funny stuff!_" He leaned against his friend and began to relax.

But – "Ve~, Poland! That does look like fun! I want to sit on Germany's lap!"

Romano started to growl and rise from the chair. England cupped his face with his free hand and turned it to face him before he could get away. "Let him do it! The more people sitting on laps, the less attention people will pay to us!"

The half-nation's eyes widened and he nodded, darting his eyes around the room before placing a tiny, quick kiss on England's palm.

In a few minutes half the room's chairs were empty, as not only Poland and Lithuania, Veneziano and Germany, but also Finland and Sweden, Japan and America, and the "reunited" Prussia and Denmark had cozied up together.

_Japan and America?_ When the bloody hell had that started up? England snorted. Looked like the Swissy-America thing hadn't lasted too long. He hadn't even realized that when he'd sat next to the Alpine nation. He pointed America and Japan out to Romano, who rolled his eyes but said nothing.

"Hey, _Espagne_," they then heard France call out nonchalantly. "I feel left out. Come and sit on my lap, _mon ami_."

"Forget it, _Francia_! You sit on my lap!"

Several moments of internecine bickering took place over this particular issue, while Hungary rummaged around in a backpack for something. "Camera?" Romano wondered.

"Hey, France! Spain!" Prussia called out. "Cool it – she's going for the frying pan!"

France and Spain quickly sat down: France in the chair, Spain on his lap, and they snuggled, rubbing noses together with enormous grins, while Prussia roared with laughter and Romano gagged. "I wish those bastards would just stay together and leave everybody else alone," he whispered.

"Maybe they will."

The exasperated Hungary, frying pan in hand, thumped her other fist on the table. "Are we ready to start this meeting yet?"

Everyone nodded meekly. Even Prussia.

"Good. Shut up and listen." She whacked the table with the frying pan for good measure and began the meeting.

…

Romano actually liked sitting on England's lap. He always did – he enjoyed that feeling of safety, of being cared for, that he got from his braver friend. As the meeting droned on, he found himself relaxing more and more in the blond's half-embrace, until his head rested cozily on England's shoulder. The island nation dropped his pen and took Romano's hand, squeezing it gently.

Hmm…if he turned his head, just a little – yes, he was able to press a surreptitious kiss to his friend's cheek; his eyes scanned the room, but no one was looking. He let out a pleased little secretive murmur and kissed him again, feeling the muscles of England's face pull up into a smile. The fingers of their clasped hands laced together almost instinctively. Romano shifted on the blond's lap.

England turned his face a little bit towards him and whispered, "I'm glad we're in the back of the room." The hand that he'd kept around Romano's waist slipped lower to caress the brunet's hip; he leaned his head back and kissed Romano's cheek.

The half-nation got a little worried, again, that somebody might be looking. He glanced around the room and noticed that everyone else seemed to be highly-focused and busy taking notes, even the albino potato! So he leaned down and turned England's face to his for a proper kiss, on the lips, feeling very daring as he did so.

"Nh, please don't, unless you want to start making out back here," his friend cautioned him quietly. "I can't focus on both the meeting and you."

Romano gave him a little scowl, but he did understand. He fully intended to focus…

…until England continued, "Of course I'd rather be kissing you than paying attention to the bloody meeting."

This seemed like a pretty blatant invitation. The scowl was chased away by a subtle smile, just before their lips met for a sweet, discreet kiss. "Mm," England murmured, but he turned back to the meeting.

To pass the time, Romano took some cherries from the bowl and ate them, absently dropping cherry stones into England's empty teacup, making a little "plink" each time. He always liked cherries, and these were particularly good, firm and juicy. He let out a low chuckle, which caught his friend's attention, but the brunet merely smiled and stroked his hair.

He nuzzled that messy hair during the next set of talks, feeling the rebellious blond strands against his lips, pressing sneaky kisses to England's scalp. Periodically he'd survey the room, in case anyone had an eye on them, but almost everyone was intent on the speaker…

…except his idiot brother, who was silently but unashamedly running his fingers through the potato bastard's hair, messing it up. Germany looked pissed off, ha ha, the bastard, but he wasn't trying to fix his hair or stop Veneziano from playing with it. He wasn't reacting at all.

Japan was sitting bolt upright on America's lap, busily taking notes. Huh. America looked kind of angry. Maybe because Japan wouldn't snuggle? He watched the hero slip a packet of something out of the pocket of his bomber jacket – chewing gum? yeah – and pop a piece into his mouth.

Romano sat astonished as Japan flung his note pad and pencil onto the table, turning to watch America with an almost feverish expression. The burger bastard laughed and chewed his gum ostentatiously, popping it, and Japan kept his gaze on that wide, laughing mouth as if he expected dancing girls and skyrockets to appear.

Pfft. Whatever. Romano leaned over and kissed England again.

"Mm, your kisses are so good," his friend whispered, kissing him back.

So were England's. He must have been eating cherries, Romano realized; his lips were themselves like cherries, firm and juicy and sweet. After about six minutes of these sneaky back-of-the-room kisses, England slid his hand up the back of Romano's uniform jacket, tugging on his shirt to untuck it from the khaki pants. Romano felt the cool hand travel up and down the warm skin of his back, making him shiver; he leaned against his friend and kissed him again, running his fingers through England's scruffy hair, murmuring with pleasure at being caressed.

Then in a panic he sat up straight, once again remembering they were in a meeting room. England laughed at him a little, but still no one was attending to them. Romano slowly allowed himself to relax again, fidgeting a little on England's lap.

"Aren't you getting tired of holding me on your lap?" he asked, his tongue lightly circling the edge of England's ear.

"Of course not. But if you want to switch places, I will." They kissed a few times while he thought about this. Romano checked the room again – everyone seemed to be floating off into a little private universe – so he thought it might be safe.

"Yes, please." He wanted to slide his hand down the back of England's pants.

Without regard for the rest of the room they stood up, stretching as best they could, and then Romano took the chair and England gently positioned himself on his lap.

"Very nice, _mio bastardo biondo,_" he whispered, cupping England's face with both hands and drawing him near for some kisses. England put both arms around Romano's neck and cuddled closer.

They kept their kissing quiet and subtle; the only person who might have noticed was Switzerland, next to them, but he had his face turned resolutely towards the speaker, and slightly away from them. To give them privacy? Maybe he was just pissed at them because of the America-date business. Romano couldn't tell. Frankly, he didn't care, as long as the gun bastard left them alone. He broke off the kisses, but slid his hand down the back of England's pants, just as he'd been promising himself.

The blond wriggled a little on his lap. Romano fidgeted a little bit, too, thinking about that, and absently pushed his hand deeper, cupping one of England's firm buttocks in his hand.

England leaned his head on Romano's shoulder. In a moment he heard the island nation moan, so quietly, at the squeezing pressure. He leaned a little further forward, and Romano immediately slid his hand further down.

"No, stop," England whispered. "I really don't want to get all – all in a frenzy here in the meeting room. Please?"

"All right," Romano replied, checking the clock. Hm. Soon lunchtime. A little light kissing ought to see them through to lunch. He turned his head and kissed his friend, at first lightly, just lips meeting, and then more deeply, slipping his tongue into England's delicious mouth. He took his hand out of the green uniform trousers and wrapped both arms around England's waist; in turn the island nation put both arms around his neck and melted into the kiss...

...until a loud whack – as of a frying pan against a conference table – shattered their pleasure and dragged them quickly back to reality. Romano's face was aflame; he scrubbed it with the hand not holding England. Dammit.

But it seemed that Hungary's anger was not directed at them. She began berating America for distracting Japan. With a sagging sigh, Romano checked to make sure England was all right – he too was red-faced and breathing a little heavily, but the relief on his face was quite evident. "I thought we were goners," he whispered with a smile, and Romano patted his ass.

But then Hungary turned to yell at Prussia and Denmark, who were completely ignoring her, cooing to each other and tickling each other's chins, nestling close, giggling.

"Wankers."

"Bastard, if she's going to go around the room yelling at everyone, we're doomed. She'll get to us last, and by then everyone will be watching."

"Sit up straight, then. Maybe she didn't notice." England picked up his discarded notebook and pen and began furiously scribbling in it.

The two of them tried to seem attentive as Hungary then turned to holler at Spain and France, who had been equally inattentive. They listened to her with sober faces and then burst into violent laughter, holding each other.

"And you, Germany! I expected better from _you_. Can't you and Veneziano play around on your own time?"

Veneziano contritely finger-combed Germany's hair back into place as best he could before coughing and sitting upright. Germany still didn't say anything. He didn't even raise his gaze from his notebook.

"Sweden and Finland, you have been models of deportment. Thank you." Hungary sniffed and let her eyes scan the table for other offenders. "Poland! Lithuania!"

Those two nations calmly gave their attention to her, but Poland then pulled a funny face and she rolled her eyes. "Just quit it. Just – just focus!" She hit the table with the pan again.

Romano and England were the only couple left. Both of them held their breath as they waited for her wrath to descend upon them. Hungary drew a deep breath, raised the frying pan and brought it down on the table, screaming, "All right, people! It's time for lunch break! Be back in an hour!"

The two nations let those held breaths out very forcefully, in unison, as everyone else stood to leave the room.

Hungary waited politely, as was befitting for the host nation, until everyone had left the room. She quickly caught up with Romano and England, who had been the last two to leave. "You two," she said with a grin. "Keep doing what you're doing. It's fun to watch." She scampered towards the hotel restaurant, leaving them staring after her in disbelief.

...

_This was a "Twelve Meetings" chapter that I liked a lot, and since it was just kissing and snuggling, I decided to slip it into this story with a few modifications. Hope you don't mind me recycling it this way. Thanks to MsAtrabilious for inspiring that original chapter._

_Apparently there's quite a cult, in Japan, of people who get sexually aroused by watching other people chew gum or use dental floss. Thanks to Skadiyoko who originally made me aware of that._


	50. Whoops

**Whoops.**

"Bastard, your hair looks like shit. Worse than usual," Romano laughed, as they went back to England's house after a day at the Royal Artillery Barracks, where they'd been watching Olympic shooting events. "If you have a hairbrush I'll brush it for you. I want to see if I can actually make it look nice, but I suspect it'd take a fucking miracle."

"You're a git," England grumbled, but then smiled. "You can brush my hair if you like. But you have to let me brush yours."

"Yeah, whatever. I don't mind." They went into the townhouse and England dropped his backpack on the floor.

After they'd puttered around a little, winding down, Romano asked, "Where's the hairbrush?"

"Come upstairs."

They went to England's bedroom and he fetched his hairbrush. Romano sat on the bed, up against the headboard. "Sit in between my legs, bastard."

"Mm, all right." Before sitting, England took off his uniform belt, jacket and tie, and then settled cozily in the space between Romano's legs.

He'd thought being groomed by his sexy Italian lover would be sensual and playful. Unfortunately he hadn't reckoned on Romano's temper, or the actual inability of his hair to behave. "Dammit, you have the snarliest hair I ever saw." Romano forced the brush through the messy locks. "How the hell does it get like this?"

"Ow! Don't yank. Don't ask me, wanker. It's just the way it is."

"Good thing you wear it short. If you tried wearing it like the perverted bastard, it'd be a complete knotted mess, and you'd look like shit all the time."

England decided not to tell Romano about the time he'd tried growing his hair long. It would only invite more derision.

Finally the brunet gave up, setting the brush aside. "Forget it. I think there's something fucked up in your genes."

"I hate you."

"Mm, I hate you too, loverboy," Romano purred, wrapping his arms around England's waist, kissing his neck. "I'll hate you until the day I die."

"Good," England retorted, but weakly, succumbing to the electric sensation of warm lips on his skin. "But you have to let me brush your hair now."

Romano kept kissing and murmuring for a moment. "All right, bastard. Brush my hair. Nicely. And – and don't mess with the fucking hair curl yet, all right?"

"Yes, wanker," the blond sighed. "Trade places." They traded places and England picked up the brush. "Not that your hair really needs it."

"Yeah, but it always feels nice. Do me, bastard."

"Oh, I'll do you, all right." He began stroking the brush through the dark hair.

"Shut up," Romano said softly, already listless from the brushing. He nestled back against the island nation, murmuring a little.

"You sound like you're purring," England laughed quietly. "My little kitten."

"You're a bastard." But Romano kept snuggling up and shifting his body a little bit.

England didn't speak for a while, just kept brushing, and Romano's little "purrs" got louder. Still thinking of him as a cat, the blond absentmindedly made a few mystic passes with his free hand, and – Romano turned into a cat.

Whoops.

England didn't know what to do. As soon as Romano turned back, he'd probably attack! Bloody hell. He might even attack _as_ a cat. Should he turn him back right away?

But – oh, this cat was mighty adorable. A beautiful longhaired tabby, with Romano's warm amber eyes, a very fluffy tail, and – and a single whisker that curled, just like Romano's hair curl. England's heart melted, and he scooped up the cat and nuzzled it without thinking.

"Mrow?" Romanocat asked, somehow scowling.

Ah, God, England was going to be in so much trouble, but…blast, this opportunity was too good to pass up. "You're an adorable little kitty, Romano," he murmured, burying his lips in the soft fur. He turned the cat on its back – not without some trouble – and began rubbing its belly.

Romano swatted at him with his claws; he managed to slash four parallel rents in the back of England's hand.

"Ow! Oh, don't fight me. You're so beautiful! I wish I had a camera handy."

Romanocat let out a meow that sounded more like "Mmm-noooo…"

"Oh, all right. No camera." England tickled him under the chin. "Cuddle up on my lap, little one."

Romano swiped at his face again, scowling, but England grabbed the paw and kissed it. He let go and began to pet him; the cat started to settle down. "I'll change you back soon, I promise. But you feel so nice, you look so sweet." He leaned back on the headboard, Romanocat cradled in his left arm like a baby, and petted him some more. His belly fur was so fluffy! "Does it feel good to have me pet you? Does it feel better than when I brush your hair?" He smiled.

The cat tilted his head to the side and meowed loudly before nestling close, eyes narrowed and watching the blond carefully.

"Don't worry, little sweetie. I won't do anything bad. I just – I just – " England didn't even know what to say. He wanted to bury his face in the fluffy fur and go to sleep, to cuddle this adorable creature. Even though he knew Romano would eventually scratch him to ribbons. It would be worth it! His purrs were so violent, it felt as though England were holding a motorboat. A fluffy, snuggly motorboat.

And then too, he didn't know if Romano could understand what he was saying, didn't even know whether Romano would remember this later, once he'd changed back. This was a bit worrying. He absently took a paw in one hand and began squeezing it repeatedly; Romanocat's claws extended and retracted with each pulse of his fingers.

The cat kept his narrowed eyes on the claws. England hurriedly let go.

But Romano simply yawned, showing cute little fangs, and England made a sappy little face at that. He put out a finger to stroke Romanocat's cheek, and the cat swiped at it with a paw – but playfully, not fighting. Together they batted each other, England grinning like a maniac and Romano fiercely concentrating. "Ah, I can't stand it!" England cried out, pulling the paw up to his lips and kissing it. "This may be the single cutest day I have ever lived through."

The cat patted his cheek with a paw. Huh. That was kind of mellow, for Romano.

The island nation decided to see what else Romanocat might do. He lifted the cat high and slipped down to lie on his back, settling the cat onto his chest. "Do you want to take a nap, love?"

"Meow." Romano turned in place a few times before settling down with his chin on his paws, staring at England.

The blond reached up a hand and fondled Romano's soft dark ears. "You know, you're almost nicer as a cat than a nation," he laughed.

The cat did not respond. Hah, so, probably this Romanocat didn't understand English. That was good. "I didn't mean that," he apologized, just in case. "You're perfect no matter how you are."

The cat closed its eyes and nestled its head under England's chin. He felt the soft fur against his skin and began stroking Romano's back again, evoking louder purrs. This was so beautifully comfortable. The blond felt sleepy, and would love to cuddle with his Romanocat and sleep, but – he didn't want to miss a minute of this. He knew the spell would wear off in an hour or so. He'd better stay awake and alert, so he could deal with the no-doubt-irate Romano when it wore off.

But it was so comfortable.

And then he felt Romano's raspy little tongue grooming his jaw. Gah, he wanted to squeal at the cuteness! But he was the bloody United Kingdom. He wouldn't squeal like a little girl. England reached out a finger and tickled Romano under the chin again, and the cat stopped grooming and patted his nose with a paw again.

"I'm going to remember this day for the rest of my life."

"Meow."

Well, who the hell knew what that meant. He scratched Romanocat's belly for a little while, and despite his best intentions, they both fell asleep.

…

Romano woke up in a very cramped position. "Huh?" He was lying on top of England, no big deal there. But his head was tucked under the blond's chin and his legs were curled up strangely. He straightened out and slipped off his sleeping friend to lie next to him on the bed.

Huh, what a weird dream! It all came flooding back to him. He'd dreamed he was a cat, and that England had been gooing all over him like some sappy old lady. At least in the dream he'd managed to fight back against this. He remembered trying to claw the island nation defensively. Romano laughed a little and lifted England's hand for a kiss –

– and froze as he saw four little claw marks on the back of his hand. "What? Dammit! Wake up, you fucking mystic bastard!"

"Whoops."


	51. Leaping to Conclusions

**Leaping to Conclusions.**

"Dammit! I cannot believe you turned me into a fucking _cat!_" Romano's voice rose to a squeak at that, but he didn't even care. "You creepy bastard." He hopped off the bed and stood with his back to the door, panting in anger.

"It – it was an accident," England grinned, reaching out a hand towards him. "Come here. Don't be mad. You were so soft and cu—"

"You _fucker!_ How many other times have you used magic on me?"

"What? I never –"

"Oh, sure, bastard, sure. That's probably how you got me to go out with you the first time, isn't it? Probably the only way you _could_ get anyone to go out with you! _Chigi!_ I can't believe you."

England frowned and got off the bed. "Romano, listen to me. I –"

The Italian backed away. "Forget it, bastard. I'm leaving. Don't call me, and don't come after me, and _do not try any of your fucking magical shit with me!_" Romano stormed down the stairs and right out the door, slamming it heartily behind him before running down the street.

What a shithead that stupid tea bastard was. Magic! As if turning him into a cat wasn't bad enough, now Romano had to think back to everything else they'd ever done, to see if he'd done it of his own free will, or because the asshole had magicked him into it. Fuck. How would he even know?

As he made his way home, still steaming with anger, he thought back over all their interactions for the past few years. All those nice, fun things – no. Romano now knew it was all a setup. He understood, now, why all the other nations had been so surprised when they'd started dating – and stayed dating. Dammit, he wondered whether England had put some kind of a spell on Den, too, because it was really all Den's fault that Romano had wasted so much of his life on the manipulative fucker. Two whole years!

Shit, they would have had an anniversary next month. _No. Stop thinking like that. It's over._

Romano's rage carried him all the way back to Rome. Well, at least stupid England had listened, when he'd said "don't call, don't follow." He stormed into his house and straight up to the bedroom.

_"Chigi!"_ He was not about to let himself cry over this. He was _not._ Besides, even if he did let himself cry – no – how would he know it was real? Maybe England had put a spell on him to make him sad about this! "Dammit, you bastard," he cursed the air. "How could you do this to me?" He kicked the wall a few times.

He was so tense. Ah, his head was pounding, and he was pissed as hell, and the only way he knew to alleviate this was to drink, or to cry.

Well. He wasn't going to let himself cry. He headed for the kitchen and opened a bottle of grappa. The hell with the bastard. Romano was better off alone.

…

_In order to preserve this story line and not make you hop all over the place, the Skirmish Brothers will have their Danish cruise in this story, and not in the main Skirmish Brothers story. Stay tuned._


	52. Cruising

**Cruising.**

Romano wheeled his suitcase up the gangplank of the enormous cruise ship, trying not to goggle. He'd never been this close to one before. How the hell was he supposed to find those bastards on this thing?

"Kesesese! Hey, Romano!"

Well, that solved that. He checked in and headed towards the bouncing albino. "Hey. Where's Den?"

"Talking to someone about stuff. Come on, I'll show you our room."

"Cabin."

"What?" Prussia turned and gave him a funny look.

"It's a cabin, stupid, not a room."

"Oh! Oh, you're right. I didn't even think of that. Guess Arthur's been teaching you all the awesome ship terminology, huh?"

"Bastard. You think I don't know something like that? That I need him to teach me?" Romano whacked Prussia in the arm. "Shut up and walk." He didn't want to think about England, anyway.

They walked. "So…what's he doing while we're away, anyway?"

"Don't talk to me about that fucking bastard. We're not speaking to each other." Dammit, he hoped that would shut the stupid albino up.

Prussia stopped in his tracks. "You – you _what?_" He cleared his throat. "You b-broke up?"

The stunned expression on his face made Romano snort, despite his anger at England and the fucking magic. A _cat!_ He wished he'd clawed the bastard's face to ribbons that day. "Uh. I don't – uh – I don't want to talk about it." He kept walking.

But Prussia did. "Seriously, Romano! What did he do?"

"I don't want to talk about it, all right? Dammit, just shut up and show me where the fucking cabin is."

He watched Prussia warily, in case he got nosy again. But the albino walked on, more slowly than before, perhaps trying to figure out what to say. Romano hoped he'd drop the topic of England. He was not really in the mood to discuss it. He still didn't even know what to think about it. They hadn't spoken since that day, and – and Romano didn't even know what he'd bother to say, if he saw the fucker. Probably nothing.

That's right, dammit. He hated the bastard.

"So, I have some Swissy news."

Well, that was neutral enough. "Hah. I know he's not dating America any more. I saw Japan sitting on America's lap at that last meeting." Dammit, and hadn't that been fun, snuggling up with –

"Wasn't that fun?" Prussia reminisced. "I love sitting on Den's lap. I like it when he sits on mine, too, but it hurts my thighs. I bet West is the only one with thighs strong enough to support Denmark."

"Shut up about that, stupid. What's the Swissy news?"

"Well, he did go out with America on a few dates. I guess they went shooting and stuff. But then when the Americans beat the Swiss in women's beach volleyball, Swissy got all pissed off and broke up with him."

"You're joking. What a lame reason." Not like _Romano's_ reasons, which were perfectly valid. Dammit!

"Not joking. Swissy is awesomely back with Austria now."

"Well, I'm not getting involved in any more matchmaking schemes, you idiot. None." No shit. Nobody should ever get involved in matchmaking. _Ever._

"Oh, I know. Denmark doesn't want to do that either." They'd reached their shared cabin, and Prussia stood back to allow Romano to enter first.

"Whew! This is a pretty nice cabin," Romano admitted, distracted temporarily from his anger. "I was doing some online research but they all looked like skinny little closets. But this one is really nice."

"Den and I are sharing the bed nearest the balcony."

"That's fine, as long as the two of you don't – don't – oh, dammit, you know what I mean," Romano grumbled, as Prussia laughed.

"Yes, I know what you mean. I don't have a problem with people wanting to watch me, but –"

"Shut up about that!" Romano yelled, just as Denmark entered the cabin.

"Hah, nothing ever changes with you two," he laughed.

"Hey, Den." Romano put his suitcase on the bed and began unpacking. "How are you?"

"Great. Just checking out the food and stuff. This is amazing. I can't believe I never went on a cruise before."

"If we like it, we should totally do this over Christmas," Prussia said, bouncing on his bed. "Throw me the pretzels, Den."

"Forget the pretzels! Come on; we can go walk around and find some better food. Let's go check out the boat."

"Ship."

"What?" Denmark looked puzzled.

"It's a ship, not a boat, dammit!"

"Oh, yeah! England must have been teaching you all the nautical terminology!" Denmark beamed and ruffled Romano's hair.

"Shut up about him. _Please._" Romano looked up in time to catch a panicked shrug from the albino potato. "Come on. Show us the fucking ship. I can unpack later." Romano shut the suitcase and headed to Den's side. "Well? You coming along, Teutonic Wan-uh, Teutonic Fucker?" Dammit.

"Kesesese! Of course I am. But stop calling me that. Come on, Den, show us all the most awesome things."

Denmark shrugged, this time. "Right, well, follow me!"

…

By the time the ship sailed the friends had only explored about half of it, and not very in-depth, either. "Shit, we're going to be spending all our time exploring the ship!"

"No way, Romano. We are going to go on shore every time the ship docks. There's so much to see on land, too."

"I didn't even check the itinerary," Romano confessed, as they found a bar and went in to drink. "Where are we stopping?"

Denmark checked the city names off on his fingers as he listed them. "Stockholm, Helsinki, St. Petersburg, Tallinn –"

"Where the hell's that?"

"Estonia, Romano! Shut up and let him finish!"

"– and Berlin –"

"– Kesesese –"

"– Fuck –"

"– before we end up back at Copenhagen."

"Any of those bastards meeting us on shore?"

"Not that I know of. Den?"

"Estonia actually asked me about that. He wants to show us around, but the others, no."

"Well, at least I don't have to worry about the stupid potato bastard."

Prussia rubbed his hair. "Of course not. I'll awesomely tour-guide us around Berlin."

Romano just shook his head sadly. The albino potato as tour guide? Sounded like a day in hell.

The waiter brought them some drinks. "We making a drink bet today?" Prussia wondered.

"No!" Romano smacked his hand on the table. "No," he said more calmly. He knew if they got him drunk he'd start babbling about England, and he didn't want to get into that shit with them. He'd barely been able to keep a lid on his – his _anger_ these last three weeks since the cat incident. Dammit! He smacked the table again, startling his friends. "Sorry. But no bets."

"Are you saying no to the bets, or the drinking?" Denmark asked.

"Both. Well, the drinking," he confessed. "I don't mind some little bets."

"Bet on who gets seasick!"

"Potato brain. Nobody gets seasick on a big boat like this."

"Ship," Den and Prussia said together.

"Yes, all right, shut the fuck up!"

…

_Some notes._

_The scanlation of volume 5 talks about Germany's plump thighs. So I had to comment on that._

_America did beat Switzerland in women's beach volleyball._

_This itinerary is backwards from how most of the cruise ships go, but I wanted to save Berlin for last, for plot reasons._


	53. Insecurity

**Insecurity.**

The next morning when Prussia woke up he jabbed Denmark with his elbow and covered his mouth. Den's eyes flew open, and the albino said, "Shh," very quietly, while jerking his head towards the other bed where Romano still slept. Denmark nodded in understanding and Prussia let go of his mouth, pointing towards the balcony.

They quickly and quietly got out of bed in their sweats and slipped out onto the balcony, closing the door behind them. "Sorry to get you up so early," Prussia said, "but I wanted to talk to you about this."

"What exactly happened? He wouldn't say anything yesterday, just 'shut up about England.'"

"I have no idea! I asked him some question, and he told me to shut up and not mention Arthur's name, and then I asked him if they broke up and he didn't answer. That's really all we talked about before you showed up."

"They've been going out for such a long time. I wonder what could have happened after all this time."

Prussia leaned against the railing and looked out at the sunrise. "It's pretty out here," he said, before returning to the discussion. "I can't even think of anything. You know Arthur would never do anything to risk their relationship."

"Well, _he_ will never tell. He's a gentleman, and gentlemen do not kiss and tell." Den nodded sagely. "Maybe it's just a little spat. Maybe England started angling for an invitation to join us and Romano got fed up with him begging."

"Maybe. I hope they make up soon. I don't want to keep pussyfooting around the discussion, you know?" Prussia took Denmark's hand. "Don't piss me off, Den. I don't want to break up with you."

Denmark ruffled his hair. "Don't worry about that, Teutonic Knights. Let's go back inside and sleep a little more." He yawned.

"You can sleep, kesesese! I have to do my pushups!"

"Do them quietly. If you wake Romano up he'll kill you."

"Yes, all right," Prussia laughed, opening the door again. "Maybe I'll do them on deck. Get some more sleep."

…

The ship docked in Stockholm and the three friends disembarked. "It's cold here," Romano said, hunching further into his coat. "Wish I had a hat."

Before anyone could answer, they heard a loud "Ha ha! Dudes! Great to see you all!"

"America?" they asked in unison. "What the hell are you doing here, bastard?" Romano added.

"Totally came to find you, man! I was talking to Iggy last week and he said you dumped him, so I thought I'd find you and see if you wanted to go out with me!"

Denmark and Prussia froze.

And Romano shrugged. "Sure, bastard, why the hell not?"

His friends looked at each other with their eyebrows as high as they could go. "Excuse us a minute," Den said, grabbing the albino's arm and dragging him out of earshot.

"What the hell?" Prussia asked.

"Don't ask me. But listen. I'm still pissed at America for that dumb date business at the Japan meeting. I don't want to spend the day hanging around him!"

Prussia agreed. "I'm still pissed at him for trying to take you away from me! But I'm also worried about Romano. I really wish we knew what happened with Arthur. I can't believe he'd so casually agree to a date with America. Something must have really, really gone wrong."

"You know Romano won't tell us unless we get him drunk."

"Yeah, and he said no drinking. Damn. Well, if he really wants to go off with America today, I guess we can't stop him."

"Yeah. Let's go tell them we'll go sightsee by ourselves."

They hurried back to the other two nations, but before they could say anything, Romano flapped a hand at them dismissively. "We're going to go do touristy shit on our own," he said, "so I'll just meet you here before the ship leaves. All right, bastards?"

"Uh – yeah – all right, I guess," Prussia stammered. "H-have a good day."

"We will, man!" America grabbed Romano's hand and the two of them scurried off.

"I – uh – I almost don't want to bother seeing Stockholm now," Denmark confessed, in a daze. "I want to find out just what the hell's going on."

"Yeah, me too, but…we never will. If we tail them and Romano catches us, we're dead. Come on; let's go see some awesome Swedish sights. Maybe we can get it out of him later."

"All right."

…

"Dude, I don't know what you did to Iggy, but he totally looks like shit! He's probably twenty pounds lighter, and he was acting really weak and lame. It's hilarious! I'm so glad you two finally broke up. I've wanted to go out with you for a long time." Squeezing his hand, America beamed down at Romano, who was lost in thought.

England looked like shit? Weak and thin? Romano cleared his throat. Hah, served the fucker right. Maybe he'd die.

"Uh – uh – so how did you find out where I was?" he asked in a rush, just to make conversation. He pulled his hand away from America's and stuck it in his coat pocket.

"You guys were awesomely talking about it at some meeting; I don't remember when. Oh, yeah! It was at the water park for Denmark's birthday. I really have wanted to go out with you for a while. I'm so glad you said yes. Want to go back to the ship?"

Romano was still thinking about a weakened, sick England, and this question didn't process right away. "Wh-what? What the hell for? I thought we were going to do some sightseeing, bastard?"

"Aw, Romano, can't you stop calling me 'bastard'? I know you call everybody else that, but it's kind of rude to call your new boyfriend that."

_New boyfriend_? Romano panicked. He thought this was just a sightseeing date! "I call everybody bastard, you idiot. If you don't like it, leave," he muttered. _England_ never had a problem being called 'bastard.'

Shit, he needed to stop thinking about the island fucker. All right. So America was his new boyfriend. Might as well roll with it. At least he was good-looking.

"Aw! Man, that's so harsh. You could call me 'hero'?"

Romano snorted. "No, I couldn't. Anyway, what the hell do you want to go back to the ship for?"

America leaned down to whisper conspiratorially into his ear. "So we can fool around, dude! Prussia and Denmark will be gone all day, so we could have the whole room to ourselves!"

"Cabin," Romano responded automatically, before he really understood what America had said. Then: _"What?"_

"Dude, you're the hottest nation in Europe."

Yeah, England had told him that more than once. So had Spain. Cheh. Of course he was. "So?"

"So, come on! I never get to fool around with anybody any more. Austria was so uptight about that stuff, and Japan – well, Japan – uh – " America's voice stumbled to a halt.

Romano felt like his brain had frozen. Just what the fuck had he gotten himself into today? America just wanted to sleep with him? "Is that all I am to you, bastard? An easy lay?"

"Hey, man," America grinned, "I didn't think you'd be _easy,_ but if you are, that's great. Come on; we're wasting time!" He grabbed Romano's hand and started to pull him back towards the ship.

"_Chigi!_ Let go of me, you dumbass. Let _go!_" He yanked his hand away. "Have you lost what little mind you actually had?"

"What are you talking about?" America really did look completely clueless.

"I – I'm not ready for a new boyfriend yet." No shit. "And I don't just hop into the sack with someone, you know. Haven't you ever heard of seduction?"

"Babe," America grinned, swooping in for a dramatic kiss.

Romano was too startled to push him away, and then he allowed himself to kiss back. America wasn't such a good kisser, he thought. Maybe he needed some kissing less—"Fuck!" he yelled, as the hero tried to shove his tongue into his mouth. "Bastard, what the fuck?" He wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

"Just trying to seduce you, Romano!" America gave him a thumbs-up and toothy grin. "Did I do all right?"

"I – I – I have a headache," the half-nation stammered, unable to come up with any more graceful way to get out of this. "I need to go lie down. Alone."

"Aw, nuts. Do you think you'll feel better later on? I have to head back home when the boat departs."

"Ship," Romano corrected. "Uh, probably not. It's a migraine. These kinds of headaches last a few days for me," he invented wildly. "I'll – I'll talk to you at the next meeting?" Dammit, this was all happening too fast.

"Shit, well, all right," America grumbled, kicking the curb. "At least let me walk you back to the ship, heroically make sure you get there safely."

"Yeah, okay." If that was the price Romano needed to pay for a day alone, he'd do it, dammit. By now he didn't give a flying fuck about sightseeing or anything else.

They walked back without speaking much. America tried to reach for Romano's hand once or twice, but the brunet kept both hands firmly stuffed into his coat pockets. His brain was whirling so fast that he couldn't settle on any thoughts, couldn't focus on America's halfhearted attempts at conversation.

When they reached the gangplank he interrupted the heroic nation's farewells. "I – I'll talk to you later, bastard," he mumbled.

"Remember, no calling me 'bastard'!" America said cheerfully, bending down to peck a kiss on his cheek. "Rest up. Call me when you get back to Italy, all right?"

Romano, completely at a loss, simply nodded and walked up the gangplank, waving without looking back.

Dammit.

…

"Hey, we were worried about you. Thought you were going to meet us on the dock. I'm glad you're in here. We panicked." Denmark wondered just what the hell had happened today. Romano's eyes were very red and he was lying on the bed.

"Nh. Yeah. Where's the albino potato?"

"Stopped off to get some snacks. Did you and America have a good day?"

"No." Romano rolled over and shoved his face into his pillow. "He's an ass."

"Do you want to talk to me about what happened with England?" Denmark made his voice very polite and calm. "I won't tell Prussia if you don't want me to. I'm worried about you."

"I don't want to talk about it yet" came floating up from the pillow.

"Well, okay, but if you change your mind, let me know."

"Yeah."

…

When the ship got to Helsinki, the purser delivered a vase of red hothouse roses to their cabin. "Name of Vargas?" he asked.

"Th-that's me," Romano stammered, blushing and taking the vase. Prussia slipped the man a little tip from his casino money – he still had a ton of it! – and closed the door behind him.

"Who are they awesomely from?" he asked nosily, coming to peer over Romano's shoulder.

"America, dammit." Romano crumpled the card in his fist and flung it at the trash can.

"Nice roses, though." Den came over and sniffed them. "Put them over by the window; the sunlight will make them glow."

"Very artistic idea, Denmark!" Prussia beamed at him and moved the vase to the table near the window, since Romano was still staring at the card in the trash can. "There." He turned back to Romano. "So, you and America are dating now?" he asked, trying not to sound too intrusive. Maybe he could get some real information now. And he was going to retrieve that gift card from the trash can as soon as Romano's back was turned! "Better be careful of him. There must be some real reason he can't keep a boyfriend."

"Shut up, albino potato," Romano said weakly, almost automatically, still staring at the card.

The brunet didn't look so good. He'd accompanied his friends to all their meals, but hadn't been eating much, just picking at the food on his plate, and he hadn't been speaking much, either. Prussia was perturbed about this. Yes, he desperately wanted to know what had happened with Arthur, because he was nosy, but he was also worried about Romano. Rebounding into a relationship with anyone – let alone America – was not a sensible thing to do.

He sighed. He was just happy he and Den hadn't broken up. "Come on. Let's go, or we'll end up sitting around the cabin all day."

"Come on, Romano," Den laughed, picking him up and carrying him to the door.

"Put me down, bastard. I can walk."

"Well, then, walk! Come on." Prussia poked him and they all went out the door.

…

After dinner, the three friends lay around the cabin, chatting of this and that, and the cabin's telephone rang. Romano jumped a little, his eyes wide and on the phone, but Prussia, nearest, answered it. "Awesome Prussia speaking…Yeah, he's here. Sure. Hold on." He reached the telephone towards Romano.

Should he take it? What if it was Eng—"It's America," Prussia said, and Romano sighed, taking the phone.

"Hello, bastard," he said.

"Romano! I thought you weren't going to say that anymore?"

"That was your idea, stupid. I'll call you what I want to call you. Why are you calling me?"

"Just checking in. Iggy totally shit bricks when I told him we were dating! He said if I hurt you he'd kill me. Ha ha ha, that old man is so funny. As if he could hurt _me,_ the hero."

Romano didn't say anything.

"Romano? You all right?"

"Nh, not really, bastard. Still in a little pain. Listen, don't call me on the ship any more, all right? I – uh – I don't want to disturb these other bastards."

"Oh. Yeah, all right. Uh, tell them I said hi? I can't wait to see you again, Romano. Take care of yourself. Love you!"

_Love you?_ He panicked again. "Uh – uh – yeah. 'Bye." He hung up, cradling the telephone on his chest and staring at nothing. 'Love you'! What an idiot. He snorted.

Prussia leaned over and took the telephone from his unresisting fingers, but Den spoke first. "Sounds like America's got it bad."

"Kesesese! Well, you have to admit Romano is pretty hot."

"Cheh." But he still couldn't believe America had said 'Love you.' It had taken him and England nearly two years to say those words to each other. Just a few months ago. Romano got a little misty-eyed, thinking back to that day of America's independence celebration, when he had stayed in London and taken such sweet care of his – his _backstabbing bastard of an ex-boyfriend_. "Dammit." He punched the bed.

"Hey, let's go to the ship's casino," Prussia suggested. "It's early yet. If we set a limit – nobody bets more than a hundred Euros – we should be all right!"

"Whoever loses the most has to buy the drinks next time we go out at home," Denmark agreed.

"Cheh, sure, why the fuck not." They got off their beds and headed to the casino. Romano could worry about this boyfriend shit later on.

…


	54. Foreign Relations

_You know, all the cruise ship itineraries say "Berlin (Warnem__ü__nde)," but Berlin is 2.5 hours away from Warnem__ü__nde, which is the port of call! But…let's pretend it really is Berlin._

…

**Foreign Relations.**

Prussia and Denmark were growing increasingly worried. The cruise as a vacation had certainly gotten better, which was good. Romano had perked up and participated calmly during their sightseeing tours of St. Petersburg and Tallinn. In the latter city, Estonia had been a cheerful and competent tour guide, and they'd learned a lot about his country. Prussia was glad they'd stopped there and spent the day with him. The three of them planned to come back to visit at some point when they had more than just one day to spend. And his awesome souvenir spoon collection was growing a lot! He'd have to ask West if he could display them somewhere in the house, instead of just putting them in a drawer. Maybe in a big glass-topped table in the middle of the living room, so everyone would be able to see them easily when they came for visits.

Otherwise, though, things had gotten even worse.

Every morning, Romano got a vase of flowers. He would read the card, dump the entire contents of the vase overboard, and then pitch the crumpled card after it, cursing in Italian. (He was accumulating quite a collection of empty vases in the corner of the cabin; Prussia planned to ask for a few of them at the end of the trip.) Den and Prussia had both lectured him about littering, but all he'd said was, "Cards are just paper, bastards. They'll decompose."

And every night, America called Romano on the ship's phone. Every night, Prussia and Denmark listened to their friend snap out a few angry sentences, then end with "Don't call me anymore, all right, bastard?" before slamming down the phone. And so every night they left him sulking in his bed while they went out on the balcony for a hasty whispered conference, disguised as making out.

Well. They did make out a little, too. No sense wasting the opportunity, kesesese.

After America's brief phone call tonight, Prussia sat and bounced on his bed. "The awesome Berlin tomorrow! Kesesese! Are you all geared up for it, Romano?"

"I've seen your stupid city enough times by now. I don't need to sightsee there."

The albino flipped through muted channels before handing Denmark a cupcake from a box; Den handed him a bottle of beer in exchange. "But West's going to take us to all his impressive military sights. I bet you haven't seen them all yet."

Romano groaned. "Bastards. You really think I want to waste a whole day looking at the stupid potato bastard's tributes to his own military prowess? Chigi!" He rolled over and faced the wall.

"You know you love his military prowess."

The brunet didn't respond to that, but Denmark laughed. "Oh, come on. When will you have another opportunity like this?"

"When would I _want_ one?"

"Besides," Prussia said, "maybe America will show up to surprise you!"

Romano turned on the bed again and stuck his head under the pillow, groaning.

"I'm going to take us to my favorite little beer garden, too," Prussia added. "Great Bratwurst and pretzels, and of course the awesome beer. You've never been to that one, either of you." He burped and raised his bottle in a toast to Denmark. "This cruise food is good, but it's no substitute for the basics."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Well, I'm going to wash up and get some rest," Den said, finishing his cupcake. "I'll see you two tomorrow. Do you want the TV on, Prussia?"

"Nah, that's all right. I'll do some exercises." He jumped off his bed and began doing jumping jacks in the space between the beds.

"Dammit, you make me crazy, albino potato."

"That's all right, Romano! You make me crazy sometimes, too."

…

In the morning Prussia got up at his usual hour, but instead of sneaking off to do his pushups elsewhere, he began doing them noisily in the cabin.

"Prussia…" Denmark warned sleepily.

A pillow flew off Romano's bed and hit the albino in the back. "Ow! Romano, not cool. Stop it."

"_You_ stop it, bastard. I'm trying to sleep."

"Look, I'm tired of having to go do pushups on deck! Everybody stares at me. Just let me do them here. There's enough room."

"But I want to sleep, dammit."

"Get up," Den sighed. "You might as well. We can get our German sightseeing out of the way and come back here to sleep early." He got out of the bed and stretched.

Prussia kept doing pushups and counting, and Romano finally groaned, "Forget it. I don't want to see German sights, military or otherwise. I'm going to stay in the cabin all day and get some rest. You bastards go, and leave me alone."

"But Romano!" Prussia whined.

"Never mind," Denmark said hastily. "If he doesn't want to go, and you force him, he's going to be a miserable bastard all day. I don't want to deal with that. Do you? Best just to let him alone."

"Thanks, Den." Romano rolled over again. "Now shut up and go do your fucking potato sightseeing!"

"Kesesese! You don't know what you're missing, but…if you insist."

"I insist, dammit!"

…

Romano had finally managed to get some sleep after the two loud bastards had left. A few hours later he woke up, but stayed in the bed, letting his thoughts wander. He wondered whether America really had shown up to sightsee with them, and laughed a little at the thought of the idiot wandering around Berlin, perplexed, without him.

A soft knock came at the door. Shit, it couldn't be America, could it? No, he wouldn't be allowed on the ship. It was probably just Den or the albino potato coming back for their stupid wallets or something. Romano rolled face-down onto the bed and barked, "Come in." He hoped whichever bastard it was would just get what he needed, and go.

He heard the door open and shut; heard something heavy clump onto the floor. "Well?" he demanded, when the fucker hadn't spoken.

"H-hello, Romano," a hesitant voice said. The voice he loved best in the whole world. He stilled on the bed. Was – was England really there, or was it just a – a hallucination, or something? Was he dreaming? He didn't move, didn't even let himself _breathe_, in case he missed something, shattered this dream.

A long time passed, during which Romano did not move, and the voice did not speak. "Do you want me to leave?" England finally asked, sadly.

Face pressed into the pillow, Romano shook his head "no," over and over again, now gulping deep breaths. Oh, no. He did not want England to leave.

England cleared his throat. "I know you said not to follow you or bother you, but I need to talk to you." He took a deep breath. "A-America told me that the two of you are – are really, ah, oh, bloody hell, he keeps saying you're in l-love with each other. And I. Er. I needed to hear that from you, before I could get – get closure, so I can stop being so miserable and move on."

America said _that? _ Slowly, Romano pushed himself into a sitting position, but kept his back to England. It would be easier to talk without looking at him. "You – you want to move on?" he asked, instead of addressing the question. Dammit!

He felt the bed shift as the blond sat at its foot. Heard England's deep breaths, the wobble in his voice. "I want you to be happy. If you're happy with America, then I'll just apologize for what I did that day, and leave you alone. But – but if you're not –" He wound down.

Romano pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "I'm not," he blurted out.

They sat in the quiet cabin together, the brunet keeping his back to England, forcing himself to stay calm. He tried to think of something to say, but England spoke first.

"I am more sorry than you will ever know. And I swear to you by – by the l-love I have for you, that I never used magic on you at any time, except the – the cat day, and I never will again. I _swear_ this to you, Italy Romano."

"Oh," Romano said, but his voice broke, and he stopped, and bent down to blot tears away with the hem of the pillowcase. "I – I'm sorry I said those things," he managed. "Every damn day, I –" But he didn't know how to go on. He clenched his fists in his lap.

England's cool hand came to rest lightly between his shoulder blades. "Do you think we – could try again?"

Romano nodded, over and over again, and when England's arms slipped around him in a tentative embrace he sagged against him and took some deep, relieved breaths, feeling those safe, strong arms supporting him. He finally turned to look at his dear friend. "Oh, England, I –"

"Shh," the island nation whispered against his hair. "Just let me hold you for a little while. My arms have missed you so."

"Yes," Romano answered, hugging him tightly, nestling close.

…

When they had calmed down enough to speak normally, Romano gestured towards the suitcase with his chin. "Planning a long stay?"

"Ha. Well, some of that is overnight stuff, because I did hope we'd make up and I could stay." He smiled at Romano and they shared a quick kiss. "But I've been moping around the last few weeks, so I kept doing things to make me think of you." England stared at the ceiling and Romano cuddled closer to stroke his blushing cheek softly with the backs of his fingers. "I knitted all your bloody flag hats, so they're in there, and yesterday I baked some of those asiago cheese and sundried tomato scones; those are in there, and –"

Romano interrupted him with a gentle kiss on the cheek. "I'm a complete ass," he said, nodding. "How could I have panicked that way about you?"

"W-well," England said, a little nervously, "I can see how it would have been frightening and – and weird for you. So there are some other things in that bag."

"What? You're making me nervous now, bastard."

England squeezed his hand with a little smile. Hah. See? It was perfectly fine to call his boyfriend "bastard"! He squeezed back with a grin. "Bastard."

"What?"

"Uh. Nothing." Romano kept grinning. "Go on, tell me about the stuff in the fucking bag, _bastard_." He laughed a little.

"Er, well, I – I thought that, if you wanted, if you thought it would be fair, like, like, revenge or something, I could turn myself into a cat while you stayed human, for a while."

Romano was astonished. "Wha – huh? What's that got to do with the suitcase?"

"Cat treats, and a brush, and toys," England admitted, gritting his teeth and turning red. "And some other goofy things. I – I figured if I was going to turn myself into a cat, maybe I'd at least get a little fun out of it myself."

He looked so awkward that Romano burst out laughing and hugged him again. "It's a deal. Turn yourself into a cat for me, and I'll brush you, and give you treats, and pet you for a while. Then we'll be even."

England smiled sweetly at him, his green eyes sparkling with delight. "You're sure we're all right?"

A soft kiss, fingers running through the scruffy blond hair. "We're more than all right, bastard. We're perfect."

…

"You – do you have to get naked to do this?" Romano wondered. He was still only wearing the boxers he used for sleeping and lounging. Well, no sense changing now.

"No, of course not. Remember? When you woke up you were still dressed."

Oh, yeah. He did remember that.

"But," England said, not meeting his eyes, "I'm going to take off my uniform jacket and belt, all right?"

"Sure, whatever, bastard. Hurry up, though. I'm strangely looking forward to this."

"I'm going to do the spell in the bathroom. I'll be out in a minute." England took something out of the bag and went into the cabin's tiny bathroom.

Romano sat cross-legged on the bed, pulling items out of the suitcase. Here was a hat. He pulled it out and tried it on. Huh. Nice, and that cashmere did feel awesome. Oh, but this one had beads. It must be the albino potato's. The little knitted Gilbird on top was really cute, though. England had done a great job. Very professional.

"Mrow?"

When he heard that, Romano set the hats aside and peeked over the edge of the bed. "Dammit, you're fucking adorable," he grinned, watching the ginger-and-white cat leap onto the bed. England-cat looked at him with a soulful expression, his green eyes luminous under tufty dark eyebrows. Hah; the poor bastard couldn't even escape them as a _cat!_ "You're wearing a collar?" The brunet put out a finger to touch the pet tag around England's neck. Heart-shaped, it had something engraved on it, and the collar was red, white, and green. He leaned closer to read the tag. _I belong to Lovino Vargas,_ he read, and Romano finally let himself cry, sweeping the cat into his arms and hugging it tightly. "I belong to you, too, bastard," he choked out, tears staining the long soft fur. "I never stopped."

"Mee-_yow_!"

Oh. He must be squeezing too tightly. Romano loosened his grip and the cat gave him a funny look before curling up on his lap, laying his head on the smiling, tearful half-nation's knee. Romano reached out one hand and began to stroke his fur, wiping his eyes with the other hand.

For almost a whole hour they played together, Romano dangling cat toys just out of England's reach, watching the tufty white paws bat at the stuffed mice or feather toys, listening to the loud purrs. He tenderly fed his friend cat treats, and petted him, and used the slicker brush to groom him, though the fur was just as difficult to brush as England's hair normally was. "I never had a cat," he said with a laugh. "You should do this more often. Save a fortune on litter boxes."

England-cat bit his hand playfully and rolled onto his back, exposing his white belly, which Romano automatically reached out to stroke. His gaze kept returning to the collar. He wondered whether it would vanish when England turned back into a human. Then he wondered whether he could get a matching one to wear. Only in private, only when they were alone together, but – ah, maybe not. But it would probably get the message across to oblivious America, if he wore it in public. Hah. Maybe he'd do it.

He snorted and pressed his fingers deeper into the soft fur, still stroking England's belly, still feeling the loud and soothing purrs. "I can see why you had so much fun that day," he admitted. "You feel so nice and fluffy. Do you even understand what I'm saying?"

"Meow."

"What the fuck does that mean, cat bastard? You do, or you don't?" But he grabbed a paw and kissed it with a smile.

Eventually the cat curled up next to the pillow and yawned. "Nice fangs," Romano said, lying next to him. "You're making me sleepy. Want to have a nap?"

"Mmrrr…" England purred, patting his nose softly with a big paw.

Romano nestled right up next to the furry body. "I guess you'll turn back in a little while, huh? Well, whatever. You were – are – adorable, bastard, and I'm so happy that you had the balls to come apologize. I – I love you," he stammered; dammit, even saying it to a fucking _cat _made him nervous. He kissed the cat's head, curling a finger around one outstretched front paw, and they went to sleep together.

…

Prussia and Denmark sneaked up to the cabin door. "Shh," Den whispered.

The albino put his ear to the door but didn't hear anything. "Nothing," he laughed. "I think we're safe."

Denmark unlocked the door and they pushed it open. The two of them peeked in to see Romano and England asleep together, hands intertwined; the blond was shirtless in his uniform trousers with some kind of kinky Italian dog collar on. "Kesesese!" Prussia cheered, unable to control himself.

"Shut up, albino potato! I'm – " But when Romano woke up fully and saw a smiling England in the bed with him, he interrupted himself. "Forget it. Come in, bastards. Join the celebration." He reached out and hugged the island nation with a big, goofy grin.

…

"How the hell did you even get on the ship?" Romano wondered later, as they all sat around the cabin. He was happily cuddled up to England on the bed, sharing a box of caramels after a great reconciliation dinner with their friends.

"Bought a ticket, didn't I? Bloody expensive, too; I had to pay full price for the cruise even though there are only two days left. But it was worth it." England beamed at him and kissed the tip of his nose before feeding him a piece of candy. "Every penny."

"This was all your idea, wasn't it, albino potato? All that military sightseeing bullshit. I really should have guessed. Manipulative bastard."

"Den helped," Prussia admitted. "Awesome strategy, though, am I right?"

"You're right," the other three chorused. "As usual," Denmark added with a grin, hugging him.

"And that's not even the best part. We're staying in Berlin for one more day so you can come see the awesome military sights that you missed!"

_"Chigi!"_

…

_Thanks to everyone who's enjoying the stories. I hope it's not too confusing to have this and Skirmish Brothers intertwining._

_Thanks to Skadiyoko for the cat revenge idea._


	55. Staking One's Claim

**Staking One's Claim.**

Out on the ship's balcony, Romano and England snuggled close, watching the bright moonlight on the water. "Thanks again, bastard."

"Mm. Thank _you._" They shared a kiss. "It feels so right to be back with you."

"Yeah, I know. So much less stressful."

England smiled and stroked his hair, but didn't speak.

"Hey, I wanted to ask you something," Romano said a little later.

"So ask."

"When you were a cat, did you understand the things I said to you?" He felt himself blushing and turned his face to the water.

"Of course I did. I hoped you'd say a lot of nice things, so I paid attention." His voice was amused.

"You remember all of it?" The brunet, still embarrassed, kept his face downturned.

"Every word." England fished in his pants pocket for something. "I have to admit I anticipated part of it."

"Know-it-all bastard. What are you talking about?"

"Stand up straight and face me."

Intrigued, Romano did so, and saw the flash of metal in England's hand. "Wh-what is it?" He reached out for it and saw a collar printed with the Union Jack. Romano didn't need to read the tag to know what it would say. "Oh, bastard, put it on me. You know I belong to you."

"I know," said Arthur Kirkland, fastening the collar around his lover's neck.


	56. A Different Perspective

**A Different Perspective.**

"Ah, Den, thanks for letting me crash here tonight. I didn't feel like heading back to Berlin after all that travel."

"Not a problem." Denmark dumped his suitcases near the stairs and stretched. "What a bizarre cruise."

"Well, you have to admit we were awesome, at least as far as Romano and Arthur were concerned. It was hard to talk Arthur into it, though. He kept insisting Romano didn't want to see him."

"Wonder if we'll ever find out just what the hell happened?"

"Probably not." Prussia kicked back on the couch. "You know what? I should just move in with you. It would save us a lot of travel hassle."

"Forget it! I do still have nation work to do, you know. I can't be loafing around with you all day, every day." Denmark plopped down next to him. "I mean, it would be complete fun, but…no."

"Aw. Hey, when's the next meeting?"

"Next week. France's place. Last one of the year."

"Oh, that's cool. I'll go to that one, since it's not far. We need to start talking about Christmas plans."

"Yeah."

After this decision they sat quietly, winding down from the stress of travel for a little while, and then Denmark reached over and took Prussia's hand. That was all that happened, until he leaned his head back on the back of the couch.

Prussia shifted closer and rested his head on Den's broad shoulder. "Glad we don't have any relationship trauma," he said distantly.

"Mm."

In a few minutes Denmark let go of his hand and put his arm around the albino's shoulders. Prussia nestled even closer. He took Den's other hand in his and began playing with his fingers, stroking them, turning his hand over and over. Then he raised it to his lips and kissed each fingertip.

Denmark leaned over and kissed Prussia's hair. "Want to go upstairs?" he asked seductively.

"Yes. Shower first?"

The Dane nodded and stood up.

They walked to the big tiled bathroom without speaking, still holding hands, and then Denmark began to undress Prussia very tenderly, almost as if he were too fragile to handle. Den felt very caring and attentive after all that Romano stress on the boat – _ship_ – and he was going to take his sweet time with Prussia tonight, and make sure that they both felt loved and secure.

When Prussia was standing shirtless before him, Denmark knelt to kiss the scars on the pale skin. "I love your body," he said. "Despite the scars and suffering, you are still so strong, so pure." His hands reached around to trace the scars he knew existed on Prussia's back, as well.

Den felt Prussia's hands slide into his hair softly. "Denmark." It wasn't a question, nor yet a conversational opening – just a soft, solid statement; Prussia was secure in his hands and he knew it.

When he had kissed the last scar he finished undressing his lover and Prussia stood proudly before him, a slight blush on his cheeks, looking at the still-clad Nordic nation. "My turn," he said, with a subtler-than-usual smile, raising Den to a standing position and beginning to undo the buttons on his shirt.

Prussia too took his time examining Denmark's body, caressing more strongly the marks that depicted his suffering over the centuries. "These scars, they prove you, they mark you, my Viking love."

Denmark savored the touch of the pale hands. Prussia was rarely this tender with him. He tipped his head back, closing his eyes, and put his hands on Prussia's shoulders, feeling him step closer.

With his eyes still closed Den raised his head and kissed the albino sweetly at first, a celebration of togetherness. Prussia's body molded to his, and Denmark could feel his skin begin to tingle, as it always did at this type of intimate contact. He wanted more, but the bathroom was hardly the place for –

Oh. Prussia had wanted a shower. _Yeah. _Denmark stretched out a hand and opened the door to the shower enclosure. "Get in, Teutonic Knights," he laughed, shattering the mood entirely. "Now."

"Kesesese!" Prussia stepped into the shower and turned, grinning madly, to reach for Denmark again. He turned on the water – which, as always, flowed cold for a little while, but that didn't bother either of them. "Come on, Den, let me make you feel good. I couldn't stand being on that ship with Romano in the room, and not being able to touch you."

"I know," Denmark laughed, as Prussia sank to his knees under the now-warm water flow. "Though I thought it was fun when we fooled around in the fitness room."

"That was awesome," Prussia agreed, before beginning to pleasure him.

…

_I just needed a break from Romano and England. Closing out "Love and Art" was pretty emotionally draining, so here is a little DenPru loving. This is part of my ongoing attempt to write these two a little more romantically with each other. I may try to do more, without crossing the line into M, at some point._


	57. A Cozy Evening

**A Cozy Evening.**

England lay on the couch, fully-dressed in his uniform, except for his boots. He was using his new e-reader to check stock quotes and the performance of various world currencies.

Across the room, a silent Romano sat reading a hardback book. The half-nation wore casual clothing: blue t-shirt, black hoodie, black jeans, belt, and white socks.

January in London is chilly; a fire was blazing in the grate. England had the tea tray on a table within arm's reach; Romano's coffee grew cold as he focused on his book.

The two of them had been in the large, elegant room for almost an hour now.

Romano turned a page; England swiped the screen of his tablet to page forward.

The island nation drank some tea absently, being careful not to spill any on the electronics. Romano turned another page.

"It's bloody hot in here." England set the tablet aside so he could stand up and remove his overbelt and jacket. He laid them neatly at the foot of the couch. This accomplished, he reclined again, sipping the last of the cold tea.

Romano merely grunted, flipping the next page.

In a few minutes Romano set the book face-down, rose, and stretched. He took off his hoodie and sat down again. "Hot in here," he mumbled.

"Nh."

But it was pretty hot. England pulled the hem of his shirt out of his trousers and opened the top two buttons, near his collar. He jumped to a new website. His left hand supported the tablet; his right hand leisurely drifted up and began playing with the pet tag around his neck.

He cut his eyes to Romano, who was still reading. England watched him for about four minutes, during which time Romano failed to change position or turn a page. _His_ cat collar had been visible on and off all day, but now that the hoodie had been discarded, the collar was easily seen. The island nation smiled and turned his attention back to his tablet.

Ten minutes later Romano removed his socks.

"Good idea," England said, removing his in a hurry. Romano blushed, but didn't meet his eye, and didn't comment.

The blond let go of the pet tag to scroll through an article about the most recent EU banking stress test exercises. He snorted to read that Spain was still failing so badly. He was worse than any other country. Wanker.

Romano finished his cold coffee, turning the page. When he'd set the cup back down, he pulled the hem of his t-shirt out of his waistband.

"Too hot for you?" England asked with a smirk.

"I'll be all right, bastard." He picked up his book again. "What time is it?" His tone was so artless that the island nation nearly laughed.

"Five thirty-six."

Romano kept his eyes on the page. "Oh. Okay."

England unbuttoned his shirt and spread it open. Romano turned a page.

"Five forty," the blond said in a few minutes.

"Dammit, shut up about it, bastard." Red-faced, Romano flipped a page almost angrily.

"Just thought you might like to know."

The amber eyes finally glanced up. "Look, stupid, I'm – " He stopped, his eyes traveling up and down England's bared torso. "Trying to read," he concluded, scowling back down at his book.

England was by now grinning like a fool, but of course Romano wasn't looking. "Five forty-five."

"Grr." But then Romano set the book down and rose to take his shirt off. Now clad only in his jeans, he plopped irritably down into the big chair.

"Nice pet tag."

"Don't goad me, you stupid idiot. What time is it?"

"Five forty-seven."

"Dammit."

By now England too wished that the clock would move a little faster. To kill some time, he set the tablet aside and got up, discarding the open shirt; it fell to the floor and he let it lay. He stretched with a loud grunt; Romano didn't look at him. The blond smiled and lay back on the couch again, picking up the tablet.

Hm. Maybe they should go see the new James Bond movie. The island nation loved 007. He couldn't remember whether Romano enjoyed those movies or not. Well, he'd wait until six, and then see what happened. If everyone stayed calm, he'd invite him to the movie tonight.

He was so intent on these thoughts that he didn't realize the half-dressed Romano was now standing next to him, bent down, his chest brushing against England's shoulder. "Wh-what are you doing, git?" he managed.

"Just checking the clock on your little computer gizmo." Romano straightened and went back to the chair.

Hah. Five fifty-three.

England closed his eyes. That would help.

Then he opened them and checked the clock. Five fifty-four. Blast it!

So he visited his favorite Italian tourism website. Hm…how he'd love to make love to Romano in a gondola in Venice. Slow and sweet…ahem. "Five fifty-eight," he croaked out, running his hands through his hair as a distraction.

But he smirked as Romano put a bookmark into his book and very deliberately set it on the side table. The brunet stretched in the chair, not meeting his friend's eyes. "Six o'clock yet?" he asked, again in that fake, I-don't-give-a-damn tone of voice.

The island nation checked the clock and set the tablet aside. "Yes," he grinned, sitting up.

The two of them eyed each other. England was on the couch, right? So there was no reason at all for him to get up.

But Romano was now smirking. Didn't look like he'd get out of the chair anytime soon.

Then they spoke at the same time:

"Dammit."

"Bloody hell."

Both nations jumped out of their chairs and ran to each other in the middle of the parlor, embracing and kissing as though they hadn't seen each other in months. "Dammit, no more stupid bets like that, idiot." His hands were warm as they traveled up and down England's back.

"Who won, anyway?" England's hands were in the soft dark hair, trying to pull Romano closer as he kissed him.

"Looks like we both did, bastard."

…

_Just a little something to kill some time._


	58. Summer Adventure

**Summer Adventure.**

Romano and England brought their luggage onto the cruise ship, trying not to gawk. Both of them were half apprehensive, half excited about this trip. At least Den and the albino potato had a cabin on a different part of the ship. Romano was very glad of that. They dumped their bags and headed out to explore, a few hours before the ship would depart.

"Kesesese! Hey, _Romano!_"

"Dammit. Just once, I wish his fucking nation radar was turned off."

"Eh, calm down. We don't have to spend the whole trip with them."

"Please?" They turned to see their friends waving from across the deck. "Let's make some kind of deal where we only do something together once a day, or whatever. I'm really looking forward to spending some r-ro-romantic time with you." Dammit, he felt himself blushing. "Fuck. But it'll be hard to do that if they're around us, all the time."

"I know. We'll come up with something."

Prussia and Denmark finally caught up with them. "Is this not awesome?"

"Yeah, it's awesome," England said, before Romano could get a word in. "Where's your cabin?"

"Deck 11, near the front of the ship."

"It's the bow, you moron. You still didn't bother to learn any ship terminology?"

"Why should I? Not like I'm going to be running any fleets or anything." Prussia ruffled Romano's hair.

"Stop that."

"Ready for a week of constant partying?" Den asked with a grin. "I am. Nation work's been getting me down."

"Poor baby." Prussia reached up and patted his head. "Yeah, I'm ready."

"Don't pat my hair, git. Let's go look around the ship. Is that all right with you?" England asked Romano.

"What? Yes! Why the hell wouldn't it be?" He scowled but let the blond take his hand, briefly. Then he yanked his hand away. Didn't want to look like some fucking lovesick idiot wandering around hand in hand with his stupid boyfriend, even if this _was_ his Christmas present, even if England _was_ the perfect thoughtful boyfriend. There were limits, after all.

"Did you bring your wheeled suitcase, Gilbert?"

"Kesesese, are you kidding? Of course I did. It's _Danish._ Plus all my old suitcases have holes in them."

They stopped short as Prussia clapped his forehead with both hands and began moaning. "What's the matter with you?" Denmark jabbed him with an elbow.

He gestured theatrically to the swimming pool in front of them. "Swimsuits! I didn't bring a swimsuit!"

"Pfft. Calm down. They probably sell them in the gift shop or something."

Prussia looked at Denmark in amazement. "I don't want a stupid gift shop bathing suit. What time is it?"

England checked his watch. "One-thirty. Why?"

The albino nodded. "I'm going back on shore. I know there's got to be a swimsuit shop nearby; they cater to the people on these boats."

"Ships," the other three corrected.

"Whatever! I have to hurry." He headed for the gangplank, his friends trailing after him.

"Prussia, wait! You might miss the sailing."

"Don't worry about me, Den. I got an awesome new cell phone and I already programmed all your numbers into it, so I'll call you and keep you posted on progress. I have four hours, right?"

"Four hours to departure. You have to be on board an hour before that, wanker."

"Okay. Okay, just hang out, and I'll call you on Den's phone when I have an update. Anybody want to go with me?"

"No fucking way, bastard. I have no interest in watching you admire yourself half-naked in a shop full of swim trunks."

"Kesesese! Come on, Den? Arthur?"

"No, just go. It'll be quicker that way. You sure you won't get lost?"

"I won't get lost, Den, just watch me!" He ran down the gangplank, waving, and was soon lost amongst the nearby boutiques.

"He's asking for trouble," Romano muttered.

"Nothing we can do about it now. Let's go get something to drink."

Since Prussia was out of sight, the other two shrugged and followed Denmark to the nearest bar.

…

"Soon sailing time," Romano said drowsily, checking his watch. "The albino potato's going to miss the boat." He laughed a little at that.

Denmark checked the clock on his phone. "Ah, he'll make it. Still got an hour." He poured himself another beer from the pitcher.

"Funny to think about what would happen if he did miss it, though." England grinned. "One of these days he's going to have to learn that the world doesn't revolve around him."

"He'll never learn that lesson, bastard. If he didn't learn it when he first became an ex-nation, it'll never sink in now." With another swig of a delicious vodka martini Romano felt himself growing even mellower, and leaned back against the railing to look out at the sparkly water.

A loud horn blast woke him up in a panic. "Huh? Hey? Hey, bastards, what the fuck was that?"

England looked just as freaked out. "How the hell would I know? I was asleep!"

"Yeah, me too." Den scratched his head. "Huh, seems like that maybe was the warning for departure?"

"Do you suppose Gilbert got back and just couldn't find us?"

"Hurry up. Let's get to the gangplank side of the boat."

"Ship."

Yes, indeed, the ship was pulling away from the dock. A weak crowd stood on shore and waved, but there was no sign of Prussia. "He must have gone back to the cabin," Den realized. "_Cabin_," he then snarked to his friends.

"Whatever, git. Come on, let's go find him."

Halfway there Den's phone rang. "Shit, yes. I should have just called him." He answered the phone cheerfully. "Hello, awesome Denmark speaking." He grinned towards the sky. "What? _What?_ Oh, Prussia, you total fuckwit. Didn't I tell you this was going to happen?"

"He missed the damn boat?"

"Ship? Guess so. Den wouldn't be so agitated otherwise."

"You – wait, Prussia, wait!" But a disgusted expression on the Dane's face seemed to prove that Prussia had hung up the phone.

"He's on shore?" Romano asked gleefully.

"Yes. He's such a goddamn clueless idiot."

"Well, what's he going to do? He can't expect us to have them stop the damn ship while he borrows a bloody rowboat or whatever."

"No, he's going to call America. That was the last thing he said before he hung up."

"What a wanker," England muttered, but it was a half-assed mutter. "Now what?"

"I don't know. Want to get dinner? He'll call me if there's anything he expects me to do."

"Sure, let's go eat. Better eat on the damn deck, if we can, so you get better reception."

"Right."

…

"Stupid albino potato," Romano mumbled, for the umpteenth time. None of them had been able to settle; after a hasty meal of finger foods they'd all rushed back to the landward side of the ship to watch and see what might happen. England was convinced that he'd borrow a motorboat from America, who wouldn't miss the chance to do something heroic like this, but Romano didn't think that was likely. For one thing, it was getting dark out. "I'm guessing he'll get to the next port of call somehow and then join up with us."

"But then why isn't he answering his phone?" Denmark was so mad. He kept pacing back and forth on the deck, trying to reach Prussia by phone, completely oblivious to the interested glances of passersby. "He's _such a damn idiot!_ I told him he wouldn't make it back. Didn't I tell him?" he repeated.

"You told him," England sighed.

"Maybe he lost the fucking phone."

"Maybe." Den pushed a hand through his hair and slipped the phone back into his pocket. "If only he – "

People around them began squealing and cheering. "Fireworks?" Romano wondered. He took England's hand, remembering how the sound of fireworks always brought back memories of artillery in the war. The blond squeezed gratefully.

"Nope. Just flares. I wonder why an airplane's dropping flares."

"That git's going to fly his bloody plane right over – " But England's voice stumbled to a halt as they saw, outlined against the fading sunset, a small figure leap from the airplane. "No. Not possible."

"Are you kidding? That's a hundred percent possible. That's just the kind of thing that attention-seeking bastard would do, dammit." Romano squeezed tighter. Now they all peered up at the approaching figure, who pulled the cord on a parachute which opened to display the Stars and Stripes in all its glory.

"What a bloody idiot. Idiots. I hate them both."

"I know, bastard." But he wasn't really paying attention to England; he was mesmerized by that falling figure, and so were all the crowds on the deck.

"Hey, _Prussia!_" Denmark yelled, whooping and laughing. "Over here!" He waved his arms frantically.

"Will you settle down, stupid? I don't want them to know he's with us!" Romano's voice was a panicked hiss.

England snorted. "You really think that's going to be possible now? Once he lands, this story's going to be all over the ship. I bet he doesn't have to pay for a single drink on the rest of the cruise."

"Fine. He can go get bombed with all the people on ship, and you and I can be together, somewhere else."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

By now the madly-waving figure of Prussia was discernable as he angled towards the deck. People cleared a landing space. He was yelling something to them and gesturing. "What the hell's he yelling about?"

"Beats me. We're clearing the deck for him." (Denmark was still jumping up and down and waving.)

"Oh, a rope? Maybe he wants us to throw a rope so he doesn't go over top of the ship and land in the water." England smirked. "You know I'm really tempted to watch that."

"Ah, bastard, let's get a rope ready if we can. If it was you, and he did that, you'd be fucking pissed off."

"The point, Romano, the whole bloody _point_ is that I would never pull some asinine stunt like this!" The blond glared at him, hands on hips.

"What about all your damn James Bond shit? That's exactly what he's doing!" Romano was equally furious; by this point they were so intent on their argument that they missed Denmark leaping off a table to grab Prussia by the foot and hang on. For one tense moment the two of them lifted higher into the air, and then the albino managed to struggle out of his 'chute, which floated up to snag on a higher deck, as he and Denmark plummeted into a heap.

"Ow. Oh, damn you, Prussia. You're the world's biggest idiot."

But before Den could speak further, the watching crowd burst into applause. Prussia stood up and bowed, grinning, and then pulled a flare from inside his jacket and shot it into the air. The airplane circled and headed back to shore, but not before launching a small barrage of fireworks. The cruise patrons were enchanted.

Not so much Prussia's friends. Denmark was lying flat on the deck, moaning, and the other two continued to argue about whether or not England was a showoff.

"Hey, shut up, you two. That's not awesome." He reached a hand to help Den off the deck. "What are you yelling about, anyway?"

"Never mind," England barked. "What the hell possessed you?"

Romano glared at him and then at Prussia. "You moron."

"Man, you guys are the wettest bunch of wet blankets that ever lived. That was an amazing stunt and I'm glad my good friend America was able to heroically help me out." He nodded; someone on the upper deck dropped his parachute down and he began to bundle it up.

"Did you get your stupid _bathing suit_?" Denmark snarled.

Prussia stopped in the middle of folding. "Oh, shit. _Shit!_ I left it in America's airplane!"

…

_Just a little anagrammish kind of thing. I kind of felt something like this would happen to Prussia._

_You may recall that at the end of "Skirmish Brothers," a drunk Romano promised to host a Halloween party. That will be part of "Estonia's Love Life," the chapter after New Zealand._


	59. Mixed Nuts

_Just a little role-play._

…

**Mixed Nuts.**

Arthur entered the Parisian hotel bar in a rather foul mood. His business trip had been unfruitful, and tonight he wanted nothing more than to relax in peace with a drink, to unwind, forget about the unwilling clients and clear his head before traveling home to London tomorrow. He sat at the bar and ordered ale, idly munching on some mixed nuts from the bowl in front of him.

The blond caught a glimpse of himself in the bar mirror. Bollocks, he looked bad; his hair was a mess and he had visible dark circles under his bright green eyes. This irritated him so much that he angrily loosened his tie and then chugged his ale. He was on the verge of ordering another when a stranger entered and sat on the barstool next to him.

The barman tended to the new arrival first. Arthur heard the man order a Bloody Mary. Hm. He hadn't had one of those in a long time, and it sounded very tasty. When the barman turned to him he said, "I'll have the same," and the barman then moved off to mix the drinks.

Arthur took a moment to look at the new arrival in the mirror. When their eyes inadvertently met, he blushed and looked aside. Blast. Why was he always so shy about these things? It wasn't as if he planned to – planned to –

"They make good Bloody Marys here," the stranger offered, his accented voice deep and haunting.

Arthur turned back to make sure the man was speaking to him. He didn't want to look like a git if the stranger was speaking to someone else, but he had apparently been addressing Arthur; there was no one else within earshot. "Good to know," he countered noncommittally. He sneaked a peek in the mirror again. The man was dark-haired, dressed in a dark suit, and staring down at his hands. As Arthur turned to regard those slender hands, the stranger raised his head and their eyes met. This time he didn't turn away; he saw the other man's face redden and his eyelids drop. The blond peered into the mirror, but the barman came back with their drinks, distracting him.

Arthur had really been much too lonely lately.

He tried to think of something smooth to say, but all he could think of was, "You're right. This is a bloody good drink." Bugger, he sounded like a complete imbecile. He blushed and drank, vowing to keep his mouth shut now.

"You must have liked it," the man offered with a short laugh. "You drank it in record time."

"I – had a bad week."

"Let – let me buy you another?"

Even without looking, Arthur could almost guarantee the man was red-faced. He knew he was too. "Thanks," he blurted out. The barman came and took the new order.

Neither spoke again until the drinks arrived. "I don't ordinarily drink alone," the brunet offered. "But I've had a pretty bad week, too."

Well. Since he was sociable enough to keep talking, the least Arthur could do was respond graciously. "Wh-what kind of work do you do?" he asked.

"I – I – I own a, a, tomato soup processing plant."

Arthur almost laughed out loud at that. "No wonder you like Bloody Marys."

"Cheh. I do love tomatoes. What kind of bad week did you have? What kind of work do you do?"

He met the striking amber eyes in the mirror. "I run a…chain of scone bakeries."

The man almost spit out his drink. "I'm sorry!" Arthur then exclaimed. "Are you all right?"

"Yes…yes, I'll be fine." He cleared his throat a few times. "Sorry. I just – uh – well, it doesn't matter. What could be so bad about owning a chain of – of bakeries?" He set his drink down and pushed it away, as if he was afraid to risk drinking it.

Arthur knocked back the rest of his own drink again, reminded of his irritation with work. "Nobody's interested in our products."

"So you've been, what? Peddling scones all week?" The man coughed into his hand; he wouldn't meet Arthur's eyes.

"Trying to. It's very discouraging. Are you going to finish that drink?"

"Of course I am, ba—of course I am. Why? Oh. I see you're ready for another. Business so bad that you're planning on getting bombed tonight?"

"I was thinking about it," he admitted. Arthur motioned to the barman, who was busy with another patron but nodded to show he'd seen. "Next drink's on me," he offered.

"Thanks. I wasn't thinking of getting drunk, though, so the next one will have to be my last."

"Do you live around here? Or are you just traveling on business?" It was getting easier for Arthur to speak to him. He wasn't sure whether to attribute that to the three drinks he'd had in quick succession, or the man's laid-back manner.

"Traveling. My – my name's Vargas," he offered, extending a hand to Arthur, reddening.

"Vargas! I know a guy named Vargas," Arthur laughed, shaking his hand. "A bossy wanker."

Vargas snorted and shifted to look at Arthur in the mirror, rather than face-to-face. "You going to introduce yourself?"

Whoops. "Ah – I – I'm sorry. That was ungentlemanly of me. My name is Arthur Kirkland." He extended his hand to shake, before remembering they'd just done that. Blast, he was acting like a git again. He was about to jerk his hand back when he felt the man – Vargas – clasping his hand. Ah, his hand was so warm. Arthur involuntarily squeezed it and felt an answering squeeze. "Do you have a first name?" he asked cheekily, letting go.

Vargas scowled at him. "Yes, dammit." But he did not offer a name. Oh, well. Perhaps he wasn't really looking for company tonight, after all.

"Sorry. Just – just trying to make conversation."

The brunet rubbed a hand over his blushing face. "Yeah."

Arthur felt as though a door had just slammed in his face. He faced the mirror, but Vargas had his head tilted down to the near-empty glass in front of him. Maybe he shouldn't drink any more, either. Maybe he'd just go back to his hotel room. At least then he'd stop making an arse out of himself. He picked up his empty glass before remembering he'd finished the drink. Bloody hell. He ate a few more nuts absently, wondering what to drink next.

No, he decided, he did need to leave. He pulled out his wallet to leave a tip for the barman, who still hadn't come back to attend to them.

"You're leaving?" Vargas asked in surprise.

"Well, yes; I – I think I need to stop drinking." This was the best Arthur could come up with on the spur of the moment.

"Huh. I was kind of looking forward to talking to you a little more. It's not easy for me to socialize, but you're a pretty easygoing bas—you're pretty easy to talk to."

Maybe Arthur had been hasty. He put his wallet away. "I – I don't mind talking, but I really don't want to get drunk tonight." No kidding. Not if Vargas might turn out to be even more – er – sociable.

"Me neither. Damn hard to find the fucking hotel room when I'm drunk." Vargas appeared to be considering his next words carefully. "If you – would you like to walk around the city a little? The air is cool and clear tonight. We – we could talk while we're walking?"

Now Arthur was a little nervous. "Wh-where did you want to go?" This might be a very bad idea.

"I don't know, ba—I don't know!" Vargas punched the bar angrily, red-faced, and not meeting his eye. "I just meant, go walk around somewhere. So I don't have to sit here sober and watch you get drunk."

Oh. "We – we could walk to the theatre district, I suppose? It's not too far, and I – I always like to look at the people all dressed up for the shows."

Very carefully, very slowly, Vargas raised his gaze to Arthur's. Both of them were a little red by now. "Th-that sounds…reasonable?"

Having gotten this far, Arthur decided to be bolder. "But you have to tell me your first name. I refuse to keep calling you Vargas."

"Bastard, you haven't called me Vargas once since we've met!"

"Did you just call me a _bastard_?" Arthur was somewhat appalled.

"Dammit. Not 'a' bastard. Just – just – it's just a word I use, all right? I call almost everybody bastard. Men, anyway."

Arthur didn't even know what to say to that.

The barman finally seemed to remember them and came over, but Vargas waved him aside. "Thanks; we're leaving." The man shrugged and wiped the bar clean. "Aren't we?"

The blond shrugged, too. "Might as well."

Outside, each of them donned his coat in the refreshing autumn air. "Well?" Arthur asked.

"Well what?"

"Are you going to tell me your first name?" As soon as he'd said this, he worried that he was being too pushy.

But no. "It's Lovino," Vargas muttered.

"Wh-why didn't you want to tell me that? It's a very nice name." Frankly, Arthur was astounded. He'd expected Vargas to storm off in a fit rather than answer.

"It's _not_ a nice name. It's a fucking stupid girly name. Just call me Vargas, will you? Please?" He jerked his head in the direction of the theatre district and they strode off together.

"Whatever you say, git."

Now Vargas looked shocked. "Did you just call me a git?"

"Yeah. Deal with it." He cut his eyes to the brunet, who was either fighting a smirk or a scowl; Arthur couldn't tell. But Vargas kept pace with him, not choosing to alter his course. That was encouraging.

Both men kept their hands in their coat pockets as they walked. The night air was _very_ refreshing. Although Arthur hadn't strictly been drunk, he felt his head clearing. He let Vargas – Lovino – step a pace ahead and considered him objectively, feeling less self-conscious about this than he had in the bar.

Yes, he realized, Lovino Vargas was a bloody attractive man. Arthur felt optimistic. He grinned as he walked on, matching his strides to Vargas' again, examining the other passersby. "What kind of work does your – er – soup plant require in Paris?"

"Cheh. Trying to find someone to take it over. I'm fucking sick of France."

Arthur snorted. "I know how that is. Er – where do you live, then?" It wasn't as though they were going to have any kind of long-term relationship. He might as well ask. He hoped Vargas didn't consider the question intrusive.

"Rome."

That was rather abrupt. But he tried again. "I should have guessed. Your accent is so melodious."

Vargas let out a harsh bark of laughter. "That's a new one."

"It's true, though. Italian voices are very seductive." That was certainly true.

Vargas blushed rather violently, at that. "Uh. Th-thanks." He rubbed a hand over his face again. That was a somewhat endearing trait – as though he was trying to rub the blush away. Arthur smiled at him, but Vargas wasn't looking. "Y-your voice is very – very pleasant, also. I've – been somewhat partial to British accents lately."

"Think yew koindly, guv'nor." Arthur was astonished when Vargas burst out laughing at that. "Oh! I'd no idea you could actually laugh," he continued in his normal voice.

"Shut up, bastard. We're almost at the theatres. Anywhere specific you want to go?"

Blast. Now Vargas was pissed off again. "Er – well, no. It – it's so rare for me to go to a classy evening at the theatre, so I just like to walk around and – well – pretend." He looked down at his shoes. "I know that's rather lame."

But Vargas stopped walking. "Wh-why don't you go to the theatre?" he asked in a quiet tone. "It's not that expensive –?"

"Oh, it's not the expense. I just feel like a git going by myself. I'd rather not even go than come across as some kind of lonely loser who can't get a date."

"Bastard." But apparently Vargas couldn't figure out what else to say. He cleared his throat. "We're both wearing suits…if you fix your stupid tie, we – we could see if there's a show with available tickets?"

Arthur was again surprised and gave Vargas a very soft smile. "That's – uncommonly thoughtful of you," he told his new friend in a very quiet tone. "Thank you."

The brunet was looking at him with eyes wide, with lips slightly parted. "You – when I saw you in the bar, Arthur, I thought you were a very – very attractive man, but right now, you look so – so fucking adorable, I just want to kiss you right here in the middle of the damn sidewalk."

Arthur felt his smile get brighter. "But that wouldn't be appropriate." He took care to keep his voice calm and amenable. "Maybe – maybe we could, could talk about that more after the show?"

Vargas blushed, but smiled tentatively back at him. "That sounds like a very good idea," he agreed, stepping forward and straightening Arthur's sloppy tie for him. "I – I haven't actually been out on a real date in a long, long time," he confessed, busying himself with the knot.

"Too busy traveling?"

"Cheh, yes. Oh, I went to some stupid dinner party a few weeks ago, but other than that, not much." Vargas pressed his lips together, still not looking up, still not letting go of Arthur's tie.

"Don't I know it. Dinner parties are hell," the Brit agreed with a big grin. He took the slender hands away from his tie and held them in his own for a second, forcing the brunet to look at him. "Is – is it a date, then?" he asked softly. "I'd – like to have the memory of a – a date with you."

"Yes, it's a date, dammit," Vargas replied easily. "Let go of my fucking hands, bastard, and we'll go see if they have any tickets."

…

When the performance was over the two men walked back outside, smiling at each other. "Thank you so much. I appreciate that you were amenable to it."

"Cheh, whatever. I told you, you're a pretty easygoing bastard. I – I had a good time." Vargas rubbed his face again. "The – the performance was surprisingly good."

"The company wasn't bad, either." But he didn't know how to go forward from here. Was Vargas really interested in him, or was he thinking of Arthur as an easy—

Vargas took his hand but dropped it almost immediately. "I hope you're not – not thinking of going back to your hotel alone?"

Arthur blushed. "I don't – I'm not – er – oh, bloody hell, I don't even know what to say." He yanked his hand away and covered his eyes.

"Bastard?"

"I – I really like you," Arthur stammered. "I don't want to be a one-night stand."

"Arthur…I don't want that either. I – am happy to be spending time with you." Vargas stopped speaking and Arthur allowed his hand to drop to his side.

"Th-that's good..." Green eyes met amber briefly.

The brunet turned away. "Yes. It's surprisingly good. But – and this is fairly important – I don't want to stand out in the middle of the theatre district talking to you. And since you didn't want to spend more time in the bar, it seems to me our only logical choices are wandering around Paris some more, or going to one of our hotel rooms. I – won't touch you, if you don't want me to, but I'm not…ready to say good night to you, just yet."

"Th-that's – yes, I understand, Lovino." Whoops. He hoped his new friend wouldn't take offense.

But he hadn't even seemed to notice. "Come along. Let's head back. We – we can walk around for a little while, if you're uncomfortable with the – the hotel room idea?"

Arthur nodded, and they walked off together.

…

An hour later, after more getting-to-know-you talk and much murmured flirting, they directed their steps back to the hotel. The two of them proceeded into the lobby and up the stairs. "Here's my room," Lovino told him, opening the door and leading him inside by the hand.

"What a coincidence," Arthur laughed, stepping forward and shutting the door behind them. "This is my room too, wanker."

"Ah, bastard," Romano said, sliding into his arms, "that was the best role-play yet. You were awesome, and you look great in that suit." They kissed sweetly.

"You always look great to me. Er - thanks for the date," England murmured to him. "I actually was a little afraid to ask you about it."

"Do you really feel that way? About going to the shows alone?"

England nodded. "But sometimes I make myself go, just to try to get over it."

"Don't. You know you can just ask me, idiot. That's what – what boyfriends are for."

"You really are the absolute best," the blond replied, kissing him again. "So glad Denmark was a meddling matchmaking git."

"Mm. So am I, bastard," Romano replied, unbuttoning his friend's suit jacket, untying his tie. "So am I."


End file.
